UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


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VHSrZZ£i2 

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LIBRJS 


ROBERT  ERNEST  COWAN 


WESTERN  AUTHORS'  SERIES  N?-2. 

50  CENTS  '. 


icwii 


L1HRIS 


SAN  C.A.RL.OS  1700 


ROBERT  ERNEST  COWAN 


In  f fie  Confessional 


GUSTAV  ADOLF  DANZIGER, 

Joint  Author  of  "The  Monk  and  the  Hangman's  Daughter." 


(COPYRIGHT,   1893,  BY  G.    A.   DANZIGER.) 

All  Rights  Reserved. 


TKflestern  Butbors'  ffwbltebfng  association, 

NEW  YORK:  t       SAN    FRANCISCO: 

tig        T 

1893, 


S 


/  dedicate  this  volume  of  unpretentious  stories  to 
the  ULtterarg  Strugglcra  of  the  Pacific  Coast,  and  to 


MARCUS  B.  LEVY,  ESQ., 
so 


In  Law  my  Father, 
In  Fact  my  Friend; 

By  whose  many  favors  1  was  enabled  to  pursue  my 
literary  labors,  of  which  this  is  the  smallest  part. 

0.  A.  D, 


IN  THE  CONFESSIONAL. 


IN  THE  CONFESSIONAL 


i. 

|HE  Church  of  Our  Lady  of  the  Sa 
cred  Heart  in  Paris  was  filled  with 
worshipers,  kneeling,  and  devoutly  count 
ing  their  rosaries.  A  number  of  the  fair 
est  women  in  the  parish  knelt  by  the  door, 
near  the  priest's  confessional,  waiting  their 
turn  to  confess  to  the  handsome  priest,  who 
had  lately  arrived  —  it  was  said  —  from 
Rome.  In  the  green-curtained  inclosure 
sat  the  priest,  his  head  bent  toward  the 
narrow  opening,  speaking  solace  and  en 
couragement  to  all  those  who  sought  for 
giveness  for  transgressions. 

He  was  a  remarkably  handsome  man,  - 
Father  Felician.     His  face  —  clean  shaven 


6  IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

—  was  plump  and  rosy ;  his  neck  and  hands 
were  of  alabaster  whiteness ;  the  latter 
were  almost  effeminate  in  their  ghape 
and  elegance.  In  his  eyes  was  reflected 
Heaven's  own  mildness,  and  his  mouth 
would  have  expressed  divine  innocence  and 
gentleness,  were  it  not  for  a  sharp  cut 
about  the  corners,  which  marred  the  per 
fect  harmony  of  that  angelic  face.  In 
spite  of  Father  Felician's  five  and  fifty 
years,  there  was  not  a  white  streak  in  the 
glossy  blackness  of  his  hair. 

His  voice,  usually  resonant  and  manly, 
became  low  and  tender  as  he  greeted  the 
penitents  with  a  soft  Pax  vobiscum;  it 
thrilled  the  souls  of  the  fair  sinners  and 
made  them  more  fervent  and  devout.  He 
listened  to  the  narration  of  trivial  short 
comings  with  priestly  grace  and  fatherly 
kindness. 

It  is  needless  to  state  that  Father  Feli- 


IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL.  7 

cian  had  not  an  enemy  in  the  world.  Was 
he  not  the  anointed  of  the  Lord  ?  His 
consoling  words  were  like  the  balm  of  Gil- 
ead  upon  an  open  wound,  and  his  sage  ad 
vice  as  tender  and  benign  as  that  of  an 
elder  brother.  Men  and  women  alike 
loved  and  admired  him.  "  He  was  born 
to  be  a  priest  of  God,"  they  would  say. 
This  popular  sentiment  was  shared  by  his 
Bishop,  who  never  missed  an  opportunity 
to  affirm  the  excellent  qualities  of  Father 
Felician. 

Holy  Mother  Church  seemed  proud  of 
so  handsome,  so  eloquent,  and  so  beloved  a 
son,  for  she,  too,  showered  upon  him  ex 
ceptional  favors. 

And  no  wonder.  His  sermons  were  so 
stirring,  so  strong,  so  persuasive  and  logi 
cal,  that  the  church  register  was  full  of  the 
names  of  his  converts  from  the  ranks  of 
Protestants.  His  sermon  on  the  Christ- 


IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

mas  morning  on  which  the  sad  event  to  be 
told  in  this  story  took  place  was  a  master 
piece  of  rhetorical  dexterity,  logical  acu 
men,  and  Christian  piety ;  it  was  a  glorious 
exposition  of  the  Saviour's  love,  of  joy  in 
Heaven  and  peace  and  happiness  among 
men.  And  now  the  fair  parishioners 
thronged  around  his  confessional,  watching 
eagerly  the  green  curtains  to  see  those  who 
had  received  absolution  leave  with  bright 
and  smiling  faces. 

Among  those  waiting  their  turn  to  pour 
out  their  sorrow-laden  hearts  before  the 
Throne  of  Mercy  was  a  woman  dressed  in 
black  and  closely  veiled;  she  was  evidently 
a  stranger,  for  she  knelt  alone,  and  no  one 
seemed  to  know  her. 

She  had  waited  for  some  time,  and  at 
length  grew  quite  restless.  She  rose  and 
gently  made  her  way  toward  the  confes 
sional,  and  addressed  the  woman  whose  turn 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  9 

it  was  next  to  enter  the  sacred  inclosure: 
"  May  I  ask  you  to  let  me  enter  first,  dear 
madame  \  I  am  very  unfortunate,  and  I 
have  no  time  to  wait." 

Her  tone  was  so  sad  and  her  foreign  ac 
cent  so  charming,  her  figure  so  imposing 
and  her  dress  so  somber,  that  the  amiable 
Parisienne  involuntarily  moved  aside  and 
deferentially  asked  the  stranger  to-precede 
her.  The  stranger  expressed  her  thanks, 
and  knelt.  When  her  turn  came  she  took 
a  vial  from  her  pocket,  and,  putting  it  to 
her  lips,  deliberately  drank  its  contents. 

The  woman,  who  noticed  this,  marveled, 
as  it  was  not  customary  for  any  one  to  taste 
anything  before  confession;  but  she  thought 
no  more  of  it  until  an  hour  later,  when  she 
recalled  it  with  a  shudder. 

"  Blessed  be  the  name  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ,"  said  Father  Felician,  softly,  as  the 
woman  in  black  knelt  before  the  opening 


10  IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL 

in  the  confessional.  But  as  she  made  no 
response,  he  continued:  "  In  all  eternity. 
Amen." 

"Who  are  you,  my  daughter?"  he  con 
tinued,  placing  his  ear  close  to  the  opening. 

"  I  am  an  unfortunate  woman,  driven  to 
despair,  crime,  and  death  by  the  cruelty  of 
a  merciless  man,"  said  the  woman,  hardly 
above  a  whisper. 

Father  Felician  sighed,  as  if  he  felt  the 
burden  of  sorrow  that  bore  down  this  poor, 
forlorn  creature  before  him. 

"  Forgive,  my  daughter.  Whoso  for- 
giveth  shall  be  forgiven  by  our  Father  who 
is  in  heaven."  Father  Felician  spoke  those 
words  solemnly,  softly,  sweetly,  and  full  of 
divine  compassion. 

"  Ah,  Father,  there  are  sins  which  cannot 
be  forgiven,  —  not  if  one  is  impenitent." 

There  was  a  wild  look  in  the  woman's 
eyes  as  she  said  that.  Father  Felician  did 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  ll 

not  seem  to  have  noticed  it,  for  he  said: 
"  But  you  are  penitent,  my  daughter." 

A  tired  look  came  into  her  face,  and  she 
leaned  her  head  against  the  railing. 

"  I  am  dying,  Father,"  she  said;  "  and 
before  I  die,  I  desire  to  confess  —  and  —  ah 
-  yes  —  to  be  forgiven,  —  if  there  can  be 
forgiveness  for  such  as  I." 

Her  voice  grew  faint,  a  pallor  spread  over 
her  face,  and  a  shudder  ran  through  her 
frame. 

Father  Felician  knew  that  a  poor,  sinful 
creature  knelt  before  him,  who  needed  the 
comforting  words  of  a  father  and  the  divine 
solace  of  God's  anointed.  His  heart  went 
out  toward  this  young  and  beautiful  sinner, 
for  this  was  undeniably  true;  the  face  be 
fore  him  was  of  the  most  exquisite  beauty. 
Creatures  like  those  are  always  beset  by 
the  flesh  and  the  devil,  and  the  designers  of 
evil  never  rest  until  they  get  them  into 


12  IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL, 

their  power.  She  is  innocent,  — she  is  cer 
tainly  innocent,  — thought  Father  Felician. 
And  now  his  words  came  with  seolian  soft 
ness. 

"  Have  courage,  my  daughter,"  he  said. 
"  Man  is  sinful,  but  true  repentance  leads 
to  grace.  As  is  written:  '  If  thy  sins  be  as 
scarlet,  they  shall  be  made  as  white  as 
snow.'  In  the  name  of  Him  who  saved 
the  world,  I  bid  you  have  courage." 

These  words  seemed  to  overpower  the 
poor  woman.  She  seemed  broken-hearted; 
her  head  sank  on  her  breast,  and  sigh  after 
sigh  escaped  her  lips. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  "  I  am  dying,  not 
with  disease,  but  by  my  own  hand.  I  have 
taken  poison."  Father  Felician  started 
back,  shocked. 

"  Daughter,  what  have  you  done?  I 
will  get  you  help." 

"  Useless,  Father.     There  is  no  antidote 


IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL.  13 

to  the  poison  I  have  taken;  it  is  as  sure  as 
fate,  and  as  cruel.  Call  no  one,  Father,  but 
listen,  although  I  am  afraid  the  task  of 
telling  my  sad  story  may  prove  too  diffi 
cult  for  me." 

"  This  is  terrible,  my  daughter;  let  me 
call  a  physician;  there  may  be  help  for  you, 
and  you  may  yet  live  to  be  happy,"  said 
the  priest. 

"  I  am  past  help  and  past  happiness, 
Father.  In  less  than  two  hours  I  shall  be 
dead;  and  if  you  will  not  hear  me  I  shall 
die  without  confessing,"  said  the  lady,  reso 
lutely. 

Now,  Father  Felician  would  let  no  peni 
tent  Christian  die  without  absolution  if  he 
could  "help  it.  Young,  beautiful,  and  dy 
ing,  —  ah,  how  really  sad  and  disagreeable 
the  latter  fact  was ! 

"  Proceed,  then,  my  daughter,"  said  the 
priest,  sadly;  "and  may  God  strengthen 
you." 


14  IN   THE   CONFESSIONAL. 

"  Before  I  tell  you  my  sad  story,  I  beg 
you,  Father,  to  accept  this;  it  contains  my 
my  last  will  and  testament.  You  may  read 
it  now."  With  this  she  handed  the  priest 
a  small  envelope.  The  will  must  have  been 
remarkably  brief,  the  envelope  was  so 
small.  So,  indeed,  thought  Father  Feli- 
cian,  as  he  somewhat  thoughtfully  gazed 
upon  the  diminutive  letter  cover  in  his 
hand,  upon  which  was  written  his  name,  in 
a  bold,  masculine  hand. 

A  student  of  physiognomy  would  have 
observed  the  change  in  the  priest's  face  af 
ter  he  had  read  the  will.  His  color  came 
and  went  like  lightning. 

The  will  was  certainly  quite  brief.  It 
read  as  follows:  "  The  sum  of  900,000 
francs,  which  I  give  and  bequeath  to  Fa 
ther  Felician  of  the  Church  of  Our  Lady 
of  the  Sacred  Heart,  is  to  revert  to  the 
Church  after  his  death." 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  15 

This  peculiar  document  was  duly  signed 
by  the  testatrix  and  two  witnesses.  Father 
Felician  was  quite  surprised.  He  had 
never  before  seen  the  lady,  nor  had  he  ever 
heard  her  name  mentioned.  The  latter 
—  Da  Poniatowska — was  a  Polish  name, 
and  he  knew  no  one  by  that  name. 

The  lady,  however,  gave  him  no  time 
for  reflection. 

"  I  have  no  explanation  for  my  action," 
she  said.  "I  am  alone,  and  you  may  as 
well  have  the  use  of  that  money  as  the 
state.  But  now,  I  entreat  you,  Father, 
hear  me;  hear  the  story  of  my  life,  and 
judge  of  the  magnitude  of  my  sins." 

"  God's  mercy  is  without  end,"  said  the 
priest.  "  Jesus  forgave  the  murderer  on 
the  cross.  Tell  me  your  story." 


16  IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

II. 

About  ten  Russian  miles  from  the  city 
of  Warsaw,  on  an  eminence  overlooking 
the  valley  of  the  Vistula,  stood  the  ancient 
castle  of  the  widowed  Count  Potosky. 
The  Count  and  his  only  child,  the  Coun 
tess  Wanda,  occupied  the  castle  six  months 
of  each  year;  the  other  six  months  they 
spent  in  Paris  or  in  St.  Petersburg.  The 
Countess  Wanda  was  universally  acknowl 
edged  to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman  in 
the  empire.  At  her  feet  princes  had  knelt, 
hungry  for  a  look  from  her  glorious  eyes. 
Men  had  fought  duels  and  had  gone  mad 
on  her  account,  but  no  one  could  ever  boast 
that  Wanda,  by  word  or  look,  had  ever 
encouraged  their  advances.  She  was  not 
a  coquette, .  and  would  not  deign  to  play 
with  men's  hearts;  the  people  that  courted 
her  found  no  favor  in  her  eyes,  and  she 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  17 

did  not  try  to  like  them.  The  Count  was 
not  at  all  satisfied. 

"You  are  too  fastidious,"  he  would  say. 

She  then  kissed  his  forehead,  and  asked 
him  whether  he  would  like  to  get  rid  of 
her. 

"No,"  said  the  Count;  "but  you  will 
have  to  marry  some  time;  I  shall  not  live 
forever,  and  you  need  a  protector." 

"  Whenever  I  shall  see  the  man  I  like," 
she  replied,  "  I  will  tell  you,  and  you  may 
invite  him..  Until  then  —  wait." 

The  Count  did  not  wait  very  long,  for 
very  soon  Countess  Wanda  met  Count 
Vladislav  de  Turnisky,  whom  she  loved 
with  a  devotion  born  of  a  tender  heart  and 
spotless  soul.  But  she  also  met  Vladislav's 
friend,  Jan  Felix  Kanigefsky,  and  her  sad 
fate. 

Kanigefsky  loved  her  with  a  most  unholy 
passion,  and  seeing  his  friend  succeed  where 


18  IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

he  had  failed,  his  vindictive  nature  turned 
against  the  friend  of  his  youth,  and  he 
hated  them  both  with  the  bitterest,  most 
unrelenting  hatred. 

He  swore  their  ruin,  and  he  never  rested 
until  he  had  accomplished  his  revenge. 

Wanda  paid  dearly  for  the  blissful  mo 
ments  of  a  short  love;  the  agony  of  her 
soul  overshadowed  the  sunshine  of  her 
wedded  life.  Kanigefsky  was  more  cruel 
than  Satan,  his  rage  hotter  than  hell,  and 
his  vindictiveness  as  deep  as  the  bottom 
less  pit. 

III. 

The  city  of  Warsaw  and  its  famous  cita 
del  at  Praga  were  alive  with  soldiers  of 
all  grades  and  descriptions.  The  country 
swarmed  with  imperial  troops,  who  were 
quartered  in  the  houses  of  free  farmers  and 
the  castles  of  the  nobles. 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  19 

The  massing  of  troops  in  the  Vistula  dis 
trict  was  due  to  the  maneuvers  which  were 
to  be  held  in  the  vicinity  of  the  city  of 
Warsaw. 

The  nobles  entertained  the  officers  of  the 
army  with  balls  and  parties.  The  castle 
of  Count  Vladislav  de  Turnisky  was  the 
rendezvous  of  the  highest  grades.  The 
beautiful  Countess  was  the  main  attraction. 
On  the  third  day  after  the  maneuvers  were 
opened  the  Count  and  Countess,  with  their 
ten-year-old  daughter,  witnessed  the  grand 
spectacle  at  the  special  invitation  of  the 
commander. 

A  sham  battle  was  planned.  The  field 
of  action  was  a  plain,  where  a  large  body 
of  soldiers  were  stationed,  while  the  attack 
ing  forces  came  from  the  imperial  forest  to 
the  right,  where  the  Count  and  his  family 
had  taken  their  positions  and  were  watch 
ing  with  eager  interest. 


20  IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

The  roar  of  cannon  was  deafening,  and 
the  smoke  suffocating,  but  the  curious 
spectators  did  not  mind  it  much;  the  nov 
elty  excited  and  fascinated  them.  Sud 
denly  the  Count  uttered  a  cry  and  fell. 
The  Countess,  who  had  leaned  on  his  arm, 
seeing  her  husband  fall,  believed  that  lie 
•had  fainted,  and  called  for  help.  The 
General,  on  hearing  what  happened,  dis 
patched  his  physician.  The  latter  looked 
at  the  Count  and  shook  his  head.  Bend- 
"ing  down,  he  then  placed  his  hand  upon 
the  Count's  heart,  and,  rising,  calmly  said, 
"  He  is  beyond  help." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  cried  the  Coun 
tess. 

"  I  am  extremely  grieved  to  tell  your 
ladyship  that  the  Count  is  dead." 

"  Dead ! "  cried  the  Countess,  and  fell 
upon  the  body  in  a  swoon.  She  was  car 
ried  to  her  carriage,  and  was  attended  by 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  21 

the  physician  whose  words  had  dealt  her 
such  a  hard  blow.  As  soon  as  she  had  re 
covered,  the  doctor  left  her,  and  ordered 
some  men  to  carry  the  Count  to  a  carriage. 
But  as  they  lifted  the  body,  the  physician 
gave  a  low  whistle,  for  beneath  it  was 
found  a  pool  of  blood. 

When  Valera,  the  Count's  little  daugh 
ter,  saw  the  blood  on  the  ground  she 
screamed  and  became  hysterical. 

"Papa  is  cut,"  she  cried.  "Papa  is 
cut." 

This  drew  the  attention  of  the  Countess 
to  the  body  of  her  husband.  But  she  was 
strangely  composed  as  she  asked  the  phy 
sician  where  the  blood  came  from.  "  It 
must  have  been  a  stray  shot  that  killed 
him,"  said  the  surgeon. 

Count  Vladislav  de  Turnisky  lay  in  state 
for  three  days.  Officers  of  all  grades  visited 
the  castle  to  view  the  remains  of  one  who 


22  IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

in  life  had  been  most  conspicuous  for  hos 
pitality.  Some  there  were  who  went  to 
see  the  beautiful  Countess,  but  all  were 
respectful;  this  somewhat  ameliorated  the 
sorrow  of  the  stricken  widow. 

The  night  before  the  burial  she  refused 
to  let  any  one  but  herself  watch  by  the 
loved  one.  Valera  begged  to  stay;  she  was 
gently  but  firmly  commanded  to  go  to  bed. 
Poor  child!  she  could  not  sleep,  while  her 
beautiful  mother  was  weeping  by  the  side 
of  her  dead  father.  She  put  her  ear  to  the 
keyhole  and  listened. 

Suddenly  she  heard  the  hall  door  open, 
and  by  the  heavy  tread  concluded  that  a 
man  had  entered  the  room. 

The  child  thought  she  heard  her  mother 
give  a  suppressed  scream,  but  she  was 
afraid  to  enter  the  saloon,  because  her 
mother  had  told  her  to  go  to  bed.  All  at 
once  Valera  heard  her  mother  say:  "What 
do  you  want,  sir  ?  " 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  23 

"  I  want  you,  Countess  Wanda,"  said  a 
masculine  voice. 

"  Begone,  sir," cried  the  Countess,  "or  I 
shall  call  the  servants." 

"  You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  the 
man  said. 

Then  the  child  heard  her  mother  utter  a 
muffled  scream,  and  all  was  quiet.  Valera 
was  too  frightened  to  move.  She  slipped 
into  her  little  bed,  drew  the  cover  over  her 
face,  and  soon  fell  asleep.  There  was  great 
consternation  in  the  castle  the  next  morn 
ing  when  it  was  found  that  the  Countess 
had  disappeared. 

They  hunted  high  and  low,  but  they 
could  not  find  her;  she  was  gone.  The 
Count  was  buried,  and  Valera  went  to  live 
with  her  aunt  in  the  city  of  Warsaw. 


24  IN   THE   CONFESSIONAL. 

IV. 

Eight  years  had  gone  by.  Valera  had 
grown  to  be  a  young  lady  of  great  beauty; 
but  all  through  the  years  she  never  for  a 
moment  forgot  her  mother,  and  when  she 
went  to  school  she  frequently  stopped  and 
looked  after  ladies,  in  hopes  of  finding  her. 
One  day,  as  Valera  was  on  her  way  home 
from  church,  she  was  accosted  by  a  woman, 
who  placed  her  hand  on  Valera'sarm.  The 
latter  turned  and  uttered  a  scream;  the 
woman's  face  was  frightfully  mutilated.  In 
spite  of  the  distressing  sight,  Valera  mas 
tered  herself,  and  asked  the  woman  what 
she  wanted,  at  the  same  time  handing  her 
her  purse. 

The  woman  did  not  seem  to  see  it;  she 
gazed  steadily  into  the  girl's  eyes  and  asked 
her  whether  her  name  was  Valera  de  Tur- 
nisky.  The  girl  answered,  and  again  asked 
what  she  could  do  for  her. 


IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL.  25 

The  woman's  mutilated  face  grew  pale  as 
she  murmured:  "It  is  true,  —  she  does  not 
know  me.  No  one  will  ever  know  me 
again." 

Two  big  tears  rolled  down  her  slashed 
and  scarred  cheeks.  Valera  stood  and 
looked  at  the  woman,  but  her  gaze  seemed 
to  wander  beyond  the  woman  into  the  dis 
tance.  Suddenly  she  began  to  shiver,  and 
pressed  her  hands  against  her  heart.  She 
knew  not  how  it  happened,  —  she  uttered 
the  word  "  Mother."  At  this  the  woman 
uttered  a  cry  and  fell  down  in  a  faint. 
Being  brought  to  by  passers-by,  the  first 
words  she  uttered  were,  "  Thank  God,  she 
knows  me  ! " 

Yes.  Valera's  instinct  was  true;  the 
woman  with  the  scarred  and  mutilated  face 
was*  none  other  than  the  onc6  beautiful 
Countess  Wanda. 

Valera  wanted  to  bring  her  mother  to  her 


26  IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

aunt's  residence,  but  the  poor  Countess  im 
plored  her  not  to  shock  the  people;  she  pre 
ferred,  she  said,  to  go  away  and  live  in 
seclusion  the  short  time  she  still  had  to  live. 
Valera  put  a  heavy  veil  about  her  mother's 
face  and  brought  her  to  a  hotel,  after  which 
she  hastened  home  and  told  her  aunt  that 
she  was  going  to  leave  at  once  for  the  coun 
try.  An  hour  later,  Valera  and  her  mother 
were  on  the  road  to  her  old  home. 

"  It  was  in  this  room,"  said  Valera's 
mother  on  the  morning  after  her  arrival, 
"  that  I  sat  and  watched  by  the  side  of  your 
father's  dead  body,  when  the  door  suddenly 
opened  and  Kanigefsky  stood  before  me. 
He  was  dressed  in  the  uniform  of  a  colonel, 
and  had  on  a  great-coat.  I  was  so  shocked 
at  his  sudden  appearance  that  I  did  not 
know  what  to  say;  because  he  had  Tbeen 
your  father's  bitterest  enemy  ever  since  I 
refused  to  marry  him.  Still,  I  thought 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  27 

that  your  father's  death  had  softened  his 
heart,  and  that  he  had  coine  to  offer  his  con 
dolence.  I  would  not  believe  otherwise, 
although  I  could  see  that  his  eyes  were 
aglow  with  hatred. 

"  I  asked  him  to  be  seated,  but  he  re 
fused,  at  the  same  time  uttering  an  impre 
cation  against  your  poor  father.  I  was 
shocked,  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted. 
He  told  me  that  he  wanted  me.  The  pas 
sion  in  his  eyes  frightened  me.  I  told  him 
to  go.  I  was  at  the  same  time  moving 
toward  the  bell-cord  to  call  the  servants. 
But  he  evidently  knew  of  my  intention;  for 
as  quick  as  a  flash  he  was  by  my  side,  and, 
throwing  his  great-coat  over  me,  took  me 
and  carried  me  out  of  the  room.  I  was 
placed  in  a  carriage  ;  my  abductor  took  his 
seat  by  my  side,  and  we  were  driven  away. 

"  Shortly  after,  Kanigefsky  took  the  coat 
off  me;  and  seeing  that  I  was  completely  in 


28  IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

his  power,  I  begged  him  to  be  merciful. 
But  lie  only  laughed. 

"'You  shall  amuse  me  first,'  he  said, 
with  a  coarse  laugh. 

"'For  heaven's  sake,  what  do  you  want 
of  me?'  I  cried,  horrified. 

"'You  refused  to  be  my  wife;  you  shall 
now  be  my  slave,  and  beware  how*  you  act. 
I  shall  enforce  obedience  through  my  or 
derly.' 

"  My  heart  stood  still  at  the  thought  of 
the  horrible  fate  that  awaited  me,  but  I 
swore  to  die  rather  than  yield  to  him.  Oh, 
what  shall  I  tell  you  of  the  many  sorry  days 
and  anxious  nights  I  spent  in  the  house  of 
that  monster?  I  was  always  on  the  watch, 
and  frustrated  his  schemes.  At  last,  mad 
dened  by  drink,  he  came  into  my  room  and 
caught  me  in  his  arms.  But,  like  a  flash, 
I  buried  my  penknife  in  his  breast.  His 
ray;e  became  uncontrollable.  He  took  his 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL.  29 

sword  and  deliberately  slashed  and  hacked 
my  face.  I  fell  on  my  knees  and  begged 
for  mercy,  but  this  infuriated  him  still  more. 
He  kicked  me  with  the  heel  of  his  boot, 
and  in  his  madness  would  have  killed  me 
had  not  his  servant  entered  and  prevented 
him.  He  at  once  turned  upon  the  servant, 
but  the  latter  was  too  quick.  He  knew 
the  brute,  and  was  prepared.  He  jumped 
behind  a  large  marble  table,  and  covered 
his  master  with  a  revolver.  This  had  the 
desired  effect.  'I  will  not  stay  with  you 
any  longer,'  said  the  servant.  '  You  are  a 
maniac  and  a  murderer.  First  you  shot 
down  the  Count,  then  you  brutalized  his 
wife.  You  ought  to  be  put  in  an  insane 
asylum.' 

"Poor  fellow,  he  paid  dearly  for  his 
bravery.  The  monster  permitted  him  to 
leave  the  room,  but  had  him  arrested  a  few 
minutes  later  and  flowed  to  death.  Months 


30  IN    THE   CONFESSIONAL. 

afterward,  when  I  had  barely  recovered 
from  that  horrible  treatment,  I  found 
myself  in  convict's  clothes,  on  the  way  to 
Siberia. 

" '  Your  own  father  would  not  recognize 
you  now,'  were  the  words  he  called  after 
me  when  I  was  marched  off. 

"One  year  ago  I  had  been  given  permis 
sion  to  return  home.  I  thanked  God  for 
the  privilege;  for  I  hoped  to  see  you,  my 
child.  But  the  fear  that  you  would  not 
recognize  me,  and  that  you  might  turn 
away  in  horror  from  your  poor  mother,  has 
nearly  robbed  me  of  my  senses.  My  daugh 
ter,"  the  Countess  co»tinued,  emphasizing 
each  word,  "I  shall  die  soon.  Promise  me 
to  avenge  your  father's  death  and  your 
mother's  sufferings  upon  that  wretch.  Hunt 
him  down  if  you  have  to  go  to  every  land 
under  the  sun," 


IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL.  31 

V. 

In  the  confessional  sat  Father  Felician, 
listening  to  that  narrative  of  passion  and 
crime.  He  was  deadly  pale,  and  big  beads 
of  perspiration  stood  upon  his  forehead. 

"  You  are  innocent,  my  daughter,"  said 
the  priest.  "  You  have  magnified  your 
sins." 

"  Oh  no,  Father !  I  have  not,"  said  the 
woman.  "I  have  had  murder  in  my  heart 
for  a  number  of  years,  and  have  been,  I 
think,  greatly  sinful;  for  I  am  the  daugh 
ter  of  that  unfortunate  woman,  Countess 
Wanda,  and  I  have  kept  my  promise  most 
faithfully." 

"  Did  you  slay  the  Colonel  Kanigefsky?" 
the  priest  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  the  lady.  "  Soon  after 
my  mother's  death,  which  occurred  a  few 
weeks  after  Her  return  from  Siberia,  I  sold 


32  IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

our  estates,  and  as  my  aunt,  too,  had  died 
and  had  left  me  all  her  property,  I  sold  all 
and  moved  to  Paris.  Before  I  left,  how 
ever,  I  tried  to  find  the  Colonel,  but  was 
told  that  he  had  left  the  army  many  years 
ago,  and  no  one  seemed  to  know  whither  he 
had  gone.  I  searched  for  him  in  every 
country  in  Europe,  but  in  vain. 

"  Last  week  I  returned  to  Paris  from 
Rome,  where  I  had  lived  for  several  months. 
As  I  have  attended  your  church  for  some 
time,  I  concluded  to  bequeath  my  fortune 
to  you,  and  in  case  of  your  death,  to  the 
Church. 

"  My  agent  in  Rome,  who  knew  my 
mother,  and  through  me  learned  of  her  sad 
fate,  begged  me  to  desist  from  the  useless 
search. 

"  '  Kanigefsky  is  dead/  my  agent  said. 
'  If  he  were  alive,  we  would  have  discov 
ered  his  whereabouts  ere  this.  But,  my 


IN   THE    CONFESSIONAL.  33 

dear  young  lady,  you  need  rest.  Go  to 
Paris,  and  keep  quiet.  I  shall  have  my 
eyes  open  and  write  you  from  time  to  time.' 

"  This  morning  I  received  a  dispatch 
from  my  agent,  informing  me  that  Kani- 
gefsky  was  in  Paris.  But  I  was  tired  of 
life,  and  before  going  to  confession  I  took 
poison  that  is  sure  to  kill  me  now." 

"  Does  the  dispatch  state  where  Kani- 
gefsky  is  ? "  asked  the  priest. 

' '  Yes,  Father ;  do  you  care  to  see  it  ? "  the 
woman  inquired. 

"  Let  me  see  it,  my  daughter,"  said  the 
priest,  in  a  trembling  voice 

"  Here,"  she  said. 

Quick  as  thought  she  arose,  thrust  her 
hand  through  the  opening  of  the  confessional, 
and  pushed  in  with  all  her  force;  then  she 
staggered  backward,  and  fell  in  a  heap  upon 
the  ground.  Simultaneously  with  this  a  cry 
was  heard  —  a  cry  of  agony.  The  people 


34  IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL. 

heard  it,  but  did  not  understand  its  mean 
ing;  a  moment  later  they  were  horror- 
stricken  when  they  saw  Father  Felician 
draw  the  green  curtains  aside,  blood  rush 
ing  from  his  nose  and  mouth,  a  dagger  with 
a  jeweled  handle  up  to  the  hilt  in  his 
breast. 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not,  the 
blood  in  his  throat  causing  a  gurgling  sound; 
a  moment  later  he  fell  his'  entire  length 
upon  the  floor.  A  scene  of  confusion  en 
sued;  women  screamed  and  fainted,  and 
men  pushed  their  way  to  the  confessional. 

They  found  Father  Felician  dead,  and, 
near  by.  the  lady  in  black. 

She  was  dead,  too,  and,  clutched  tightly, 
in  her  hand  was  found  a  dispatch  from 
Rome,  which  read  as  follows  :  — 

"  Jan  Felix  Kanigefsky,  the  renegade 
and  murderer  of  your  parents,  after  leav 
ing  the  army,  entered  the  theological  semi- 


IN    THE    CONFESSIONAL. 


35 


nary  in  Rome,  and  took  holy  orders  twelve 
years  ago.  He  is  now  known  as  Father 
Felician,  the  priest  of  the  Church  of  Our 
Lady  of  the  Sacred  Heart. 

"RAUL." 


THE  FOLLOWING: 

PAOt 

THE  FATED  STAR        .        .        .                .  37 

A  CHRISTMAS  PROMISE    ....  77 

THE  STORY  OF  VLADIMIR    ....  94 

THE  AUTOMATIC  EXECUTIONER        .        .  133 

A  SACRIFICE  TO  SCIENCE     ....  154 

THE  FOREIGN  ELEMENT  .        .        .        .  216 

THE  FATAL  LETTER 239 

A  MIDNIGHT  SONG  ...                .  277 


THE  FATED  STAR. 


i. 

IF  you  want  to  succeed  on  the  stags 
you  must  live  by  the  '  rule  of  four';  it 
leads  to  fame  and  fortune,"  said  Miss  Lud- 
milla  Lassen. 

"The  'rule  of  four'!  I  never  heard  of 
such  a  rule.  I  know  of  the  '  rule  of  three,' 
but  of  no  other,"  replied  Miss  Antonette 
de  Fallen. 

"The  'rule  of  three'  is  a  flat  failure  in 
this  case.  An  actress  who  deviates  from 
the  rule  of  four  lives  in  poverty  and  dies 
ingloriously.  Having  reached  the  pinnacle 
of  fame,  she  may  discard  one  or  two,  but 
to  start  without  them  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion." 


302409 


38  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  why  I  do 
not  succeed.  I  have  no  idea  of  your  rule." 

"Precisely.  You  are  young,  beautiful, 
and  talented,  and  yet  you  are  a  mere  cipher. 
You  don't  get  a  first-rate  engagement; 
you  are  not  popular." 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Do  !  Study  the  '  rule  of  four ' ;  but  be 
careful  to  study  the  proper  rule;  if  you 
make  a  mistake,. you  are  lost." 

"  But  I  am  ignorant  of  the  elementary 
principles  of  your  rule  ?  Can't  you  tell  me 
the  rudiments  of  the  same?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  are  they  ?  " 

"  Men." 

"  Men !     What  would  you  want  me  do  ?" 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Tony.  I  don't  mean 
that  you  should  throw  yourself  away  on 
every  flirt;  for  an  actress  without  dignityr, 
womanhood,  and  virtue  cannot  be  a  true 


THE    FATED    STAE.  39 

actress.  Our  art  demands  dignity,  but, 
withal,  we  need  men  —  a  certain  class,  at 
least  —  to  assist  us." 

"  Mamma  has  warned  me  against  all  as 
sistance  proffered  by  men." 

"Bless  your  mamma!  If  it  were  not  for 
your  mamma,  you  would  be  far  ahead  in  the 
profession." 

"Don't  say  that,  Ludi  dear;  my  mamma 
is  the  best  woman  living." 

"I  don't  deny  that;  but  she  cannot 
make  you  a  success  so  long  as  you  and  she 
are  prejudiced  against  men.  An  actress 
needs  admirers.  If  you  can't  make  up 
your  mind  to  that,  you  had  better  leave 
the  stage." 

"I  can't  do  that;  I  could  not  exist  with 
out  its  excitement." 

"  And  you  are  willing  to  make  your  way 
on  the  stage7?" 

"Yes." 


40  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"And  study  the  rudiments  of  the  'rule 
of  four '  ? 

"Yes." 

"Very  well,  you  shall  have  your  first 
lesson  this  evening  at  the  dance, — for 
there  is  going  to  be  a  dance  at  the  '  Casino,' 
and  we  will  be  there.  But  now  let  us  take 
a  walk  to  the  Brunnen  ;  a  glass  of  mineral 
water  will  do  us  good." 


II. 

The  remarkable  conversation  of  the  pre 
vious  chapter,  was  held  between  two  ladies 
at  their  temporary  residence  in  a  moun 
tain  village  near  one  of  the  summer  re 
sorts  in  the  Tyrol.  Both  were  actresses 
in  the  Burg  Theater,  in  the  city  of  Vienna. 
Ludmilla  Lassen  was  a  brunette,  tall,  im 
perious,  beautiful,  and  intelligent.  She 
was  famous  and  wealthy,  and  could  well 


THE    FATED    STAR.  41 

afford  to  advise  her  friend  Antonette,  who 
was  much  younger,  and  of  whom  she  was 
very  fond.  Ludmilla  was  about  thirty 
years  of  age,  while  her  friend  was  one  and 
twenty.  The  beauty  of  the  latter  was  su 
perlative,  but  she  had  been  catalogued  by 
the  director  of  the  Burg  Theater  as  a 
"  beautiful  acquisition  without  talent." 
Actresses  know  what  that  means  in  a 
country  where  histrionic  success  is  not 
achieved  by  a  beautiful  face,  but  by  genius 
or  commanding  talent,  both  of  which  are 
more  potent  than  birth,  wealth,  and  in 
fluence.  Antonette  bv  no  means  lacked 

•/ 

talent;  but,  somehow,  she  had  never  been 
given  a  part  in  which  she  might  have  ex 
celled.  Besides,  the  military  and  aristo 
cratic  civilians  had  tacitly  ignored  her  as 
soon  as  it  became  known  that  her  mother 
acted  the  Cerberus  against  their  licentious 
advances.  The  press  never  mentioned 


42  THE  FOLLOWING: 

Antonette  in  her  fifth-rate  roles,  and  thus 
the  poor  girl  suffered  the  mortification  of 
being  tolerated  on  the  stage  and  neglected 
by  the  public  until  the  famous  Ludmilla 
noticed  her.  Her  sententious  expressions 
encouraged  Antonette,  and  she  concluded 
to  live  and  work  by  Ludoiilla's  advice. 


III. 

"  I  say,  Seebag,"  said  Baron  Zano,  a 
Hungarian  magnate  of  eccentric  proclivi 
ties,  "  did  you  notice  those  two  girls  at  the 
Brunnen  this  morning?  Devilish  fine 
girls  !  Wonder  who  they  are  ?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  Ludmilla  Las- 
sen,  Baron  ?  Where  are  your  eyes?"  cried 
Seebag,  a  noted  litterateur  and  playwright 
from  Vienna. 

"  The  devil  you  say  !  Is  this  Ludmilla  ? 
Ah,  immense  1  But  who  is  the  other  ? " 


THE    FATED   STAR.  43 

"Don't  know;  some  friend,  I  suppose. 
I  didn't  see  her  close  enough  ;  can't  tell." 

"  Suppose  we  invite  them  to  the  dance 
to-night  ? "  said  Baron  Zano. 

"  Capital  idea,"  Seebag  cried.  "  Ah  !  see, 
Baron!  there  comes  the  trinity,  —  Dr.  Grau, 
Director  Kraut,  and  Count  Mehrau.  Hello, 
gentlemen!"  he  cried,  addressing  the  new 
comers.  "  Fraulein  Ludmilla  Lassen  is 
rusticating  in  the  village.  Baron  Zano 
and  myself  have  just  conspired  to  invite 
them  to  the  dance  to-night.  Let 's  go  in  a 
body,  and  do  honor  to  the  Muses." 

"C'e_st  charmant"  said  Count  Mehrau,  a 
fat  little  Prussian,  with  small,  blinking  eyes. 
"Great  idea;  let  us  go." 

"  Hi-hi-hi !  so  my  Ludmilla  has  taken 
her  quarters  here,"  said  Director  Kraut. 
"'Tis  lucky,  very  lucky  indeed,"  he  con 
tinued,  stroking  his  abdomen,  which  pro 
truded  like  a  good-sized  beer-barrel.  "  Let 


44  THE  FOLLOWING: 

us  go,  gentlemen;  the  gods  are  with  us. 
Yes,  indeed!" 

Dr.  Grau,  the  merciless  critic,  alone  was 
silent.  He  did  not  show  any  excessive 
joy;  it  would  have  been  beneath  his  dignity 
to  manifest  any  undue  enthusiasm  for  an 
actress,  whom  he  might  annihilate  with  his 
pen  at  any  time.  His  companions  seemed 
to  know  his  sentiments  and  made  no  obser 
vation.  It  was  a  fact  known  in  all  circles 
of  society  that  Dr.  Grau  was  incorruptible; 
his  feeling  —  if  he  had  any  —  never  be 
fogged  his  judgment,  and  the  beauty  of  an 
actress,  if  she  lacked  talent,  made  him  so 
much  more  bitter  against  her.  "  A  puppet 
of  clay  without  expression,  without  a  soul," 
he  would  say  in  his  report.  "  Unworthy  of 
notice;  still,  a  menace  to  the  general  appre 
ciation  of  talent  by  her  unhallowed,  unneces 
sary,  and  undeserved  presence." 

Poor  Ludmilla !  it  took  her  years  to  win 


THE    FATED    STAR.  45 

a  word  of  approval  from  Dr.  Grau;  and  it 
was  owing  to  this  fact  that  he  accompanied 
the  rest  to  the  village. 


IV. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  blonde,  Grau1? 
Is  n't  she  superb  ?  Is  a  member  of  the  Burg 
Theater,  too.  By  the  gods  !  never  thought 

v  O  O 

she  was  so  beautiful.  De  Fallon  comes  of 
a  good  family.  Mother  is  said  to  be  a 
Satan.  But  is  n't  she  great  1 "  said  the 
Director. 

"  It  depends  upon  what  you  consider 
great,  Kraut,"  replied  Dr.  Grau.  "  I  have 
not  discovered  any  greatness  in  her.  A 
woman  of  her  stamp  always  reminds  me  of 
the  biblical  sentence,  that  it  is  easier  for  a 
camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a  needle 
than  for  rich  men  to  enter  heaven.  In  this 
case  I  should  say  that  it  was  easier  for  a 


46  THE  FOLLOWING: 

camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a  needle 
than  for  Mile,  de  Fallen  to  have  talent,  — 
to  be,  as  you  expressed  it,  great." 

"The devil  take  you,  pedants!"  cried  the 
Director,  mopping  his  brow.  "  What  do 
you  think  of  her,  Seebag  ? " 

"  That  she  is  a  dream,  a  poem,  a  love- 
song;  that  I  have  never  seen  her  peer  in 
beauty;  that  she  is  an  inspiration." 

"  She  may  be  all  that,"  chimed  in  the 
eccentric  Baron.  "But  I  hate  common 
place  women.  I  worship  an  eccentric 
woman,  —  a  woman  that  don't  mope  and 
pout  and  sigh  and  weep,  and  drown  me  in 
an  ocean  of  brats.  I  want — ' 

"  Ah,  pap-er-la-pap  ! "  broke  in  Count 
Mehrau;  "  that  is  nothing.  My  ideal  is  the 
divine  Ludmilla,  —  Ludmilla  the  charming, 
the  fiery,  the  great,  the  Rachel  of  Austria! 
Ah,  Ludmilla,  there  is  nothing  like  thee 
on  earth  !  Come  in,  gentlemen,  let 's  drink 


THE    FATED    STAR.  47 

a  bottle  to  Ludmilla  the  divine,  and  to  that 
other  star,  who  borrows  her  radiance  from 
the  only  Sun  in  Vienna  !  Allans,  messieurs!" 
They  drank  deep  and  long,  until  the 
Baron  forgot  his  eccentricities  and  praised 
Ludmilla,  and  Count  Mehrau  swore  he 
loved  Antonette;  until  the  Director  shed 
tears  of  regret  at  not  having  recognized 
her  charms  heretofore,  and  Dr.  Grau  ac 
knowledged  the  supremacy  of  beauty  over 
talent;  and  Bacchus,  laurel- wreathed  upon 
his  hogshead,  blinked  and  smiled  approval. 


V. 

"So,  Tony  dear,"  said  Ludmilla,  "let  us 
arrange  a  plan  of  action.  The  lesson  in 
the  'rule  of  four'  begins.  You  are  very 
lucky.  The  ciphers  have  appeared  unbid 
den;  it  will  depend  upon  your  mathemati- 


48  THE  FOLLOWING: 

cal  skill  to  keep  them  intact;  and  rely  upon 
my  assistance  in  all  matters." 

"  I  will  do  my  best,  dearest;  but  I  am 
quite  at  sea  in  this  matter.  I  don't  know 
how  to  begin,"  Antonette  replied. 

"  Well,  we  will  see.  There  is,  to  begin 
with,  Herr  Seebag,  an  author  and  play 
wright.  You  must  catch  him  first.  For, 
in  order  to  succeed,  you  must  have  a  lover 
who  can  write  a  good  play,  and  this  he 
must  write  for  you  especially;  he  must 
make  you  famous." 

"  You  seem  to  think  this  quite  an  easy 
matter;  besides,  Herr  Seebag — "  Here 
Antonette  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

Ludmilla  gave  a  long,  shrill  whistle. 

"  The  fish  is  caught,  eh  ?  Never  mind, 
Tony,  it  will  come  out  all  right.  But  at 
present  you  must  act.  You  understand, 
you  must  act  a  part;  have  as  much  or  as 
little  sentimentality  with  Herr  Seebag  as 


THE    FATED    STAR.  49 

you  like,  but  don't  forget  the  others.  Herr 
Seebag  is  but  one  of  the  principles  in  the 
'rule  of  four.'  The  second  principle,  or 
cipher,  shall  be  Baron  Zano." 

"  For  what  purpose  ? "  asked  Antonette. 

"  You  goose !  Don't  you  know  that  you 
need  some  one  to  care  for  and  supply  your 
wardrobe  ? " 

"  I  don't  dream  of  such  a  thing,'  replied 
Antonette. 

"  My  dear  Tony,  if  you  desire  to  make 
headway  on  the  stage,  it  is  absolutely  ne 
cessary  that  you  should  have  a  second  ad 
mirer,  who  shall  regard  it  his  greatest 
happiness  to  lay  at  your  feet  the  best  Pa 
risian  gowns,  —  or  pay  for  them,  which 
amounts  to  the  same.  This  by  no  means 
obliges  you  to  anything;  the  longer  you 
lead  him  on,  the  better  for  you.  Your 
moral  principles  are  not  in  the  least  en 
dangered  by  this." 


50  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"You  must  not  forget,  Ludi  dear,  that —  " 

"  That  you  are  the  daughter  of  an  aris 
tocratic  father,  who  was  a  colonel  in  the 
Austrian  army,"  the  vivacious  Ludmilla  in 
terrupted  her  friend;  "but  who  imprudently 
left  his  family  nothing  but  a  small  monthly 
allowance.  Well,  now,  I  think  we  had  bet 
ter  stop  here.  You  are  not  made  for  the 
stage." 

"  Go  on,  dear,"  cried  Antonette,  "  1 11  do 
as  you  say;  you  know  best." 

"  That's  a  dear  girl,"  said  Ludmilla,  kiss 
ing  her  friend.  "  The  Baron  is  crazy  for 
eccentric  women.  I  know  that  of  old.  If 
you  can  manage  him, — and  you  must  doit, — 
he  is  not  only  yours,  but  you  have  made  a 
most  important  step  in  the  right  direction. 
The  other  two  ciphers  can  be  managed  in 
the  city.  There  they  will  prove  of  consid 
erable  service;  but  at  present  they  are  in 
different.  Will  you  go  ahead  1 " 


THE   FATED   STAR.  51 

"  I  will,  dearest, "  cried  Antonette.  "  You 
are  so  good,  so  unselfish." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Ludmilla.  "  I  am 
selfish;  I  want  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  your  future  success  is  my  creation,  and 
that  I  shall  have  some  one  to  take  my 
place  —  for  I  shall  retire  soon  —  who  is 
worthy  of  the  laurels.  I  love  you,  and  you 
shall  succeed  me." 

Antonette  threw  herself  in  her  friend's 
arms  and  wept  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude. 

"  Now,  remember,  Tony,"  said  Ludmilla, 
"  with  Seebag  you  must  play  the  part  of 
the  ideal  maiden,  innocent  and  full  of  feel 
ing, —  he  is  a  poet,  you  know.  The  Baron, 
on  the  other  hand,  you  must  treat  badly; 
the  more  brutally  you  treat  him,  the  more 
he  will  worship  you.  You  must  tell  him 
that  you  hate  women;  that  your  sole  regret 
in  life  is  not  having  been  born  a  man.  Then 
you  may  be  a  little  whimsical, — just  a  little, 


52  THE  FOLLOWING: 

* 

you  know.  So,  and  now  to  work,  young 
woman,"  Ludmilla  concluded,  with  a  laugh. 
"  It  is  time  to  dress;  and  pray,  remember, 
wear  nothing  but  white,  and  some  forget- 
me-nots  on  the  left  side  of  your  coiffure.73 


VI. 

It  was  a  day  or  two  after  the  dance. 
The  weather  was  hot  and  sultry,  and  Anto- 
nette  de  Fallon,  acting  upon  the  advice  of 
her  friend  Ludmilla,  sought  the  cool  shade 
of  the  woods.  Before  long,  Seebag  found 
her.  She  was  occupied  winding  a  wreath 
of  oak-leaves.  The  blush  which  mantled 
her  brow  and  crimsoned  her  cheeks  was 
not  in  her  "  programme,"  nor  was  her 
maidenly  bashfulness  mere  acting.  The 
poet,  delighted  to  renew  the  acquaintance 
under  such  bucolic  circumstances,  asked 
permission  to  take  a  seat  by  her  side.  This 


THE    FATED    STAB.  53 

being  granted,  an  animated  conversation 
was  fast  assisting  their  respective  endeav 
ors.  Antonette's  lustrous  eyes  kindled  an 
unquenchable  fire  in  Seebag's  poetic  breast, 
and  when  Antonette  naively  placed  the 
wreath  upon  the  poet's  brow,  he  became 
her  slave,  body  and  soul. 

On  their  homeward  walk,  Seebag  said  to 
Antonette:  "You  have  given  me  so  much 
pleasure  ;  you  have  been  so  gracious,  Miss 
de  Fallen,  that  I  wish  I  knew  how  to  re 
pay  your  kindness.  But  poor  as  any  at 
tempt  on  my  part  may  prove,  I  beg  you 
will  command  me.  I  am  at  your  dis 
posal." 

"  Are  you,  indeed  ? "  said  Antonette, 
with  downcast  eyes. 

"  Certainly,  gracious  Fraulein.  I  await 
your  commands." 

"  Then,"    cried    Antonette,    lifting    her 


54  THE  FOLLOWING: 

eyes,  in  which  shone  the  light  of  triumph, 
"  then  write  me  a  part,  Herr  Seebag." 
"  You  are  too  modest,  Miss  de  Fallen." 
"  Not  at  all;  a  new  play  by  you,  in  which 
I  had  to  play  the  principal  part,  would  be 
more  valuable  to  me  than  jewels,"  the  girl 
replied. 

Flattered  by  her  praise  and  fired  by  the 
luster  in  her  eyes  and  the  smile  on  her  lips, 
Seebag  said : 

"  Very  well,  you  shall  have  the  play." 
"  But  you  must  give  me  a  role  peculiarly 
adapted  for  me  alone.     I  want  something 
entirely  out  of  the  common." 

"Ah!"  said  Seebag,  "I  have  a  play  the 
title  of  which  is  '  The  Fated  Star/  but  the 
heroine  is  one  of  those  capricious  and  ec 
centric  creatures  whom  no  man  with  a 
soul  in  his  body  can  respect,  and  which  is 
as  different  from  you  —  thank  God  !  —  as 
black  is  from  white." 


THE    FATED    STAR.  55 

"Ah,  that  would  certainly  be  an  excel 
lent  part  for  me!"  Antonette  remarked. 
"  One  always  plays  that  character  best 
which  is  entirely  opposed  to  one's  own  na 
ture,  you  know." 

"  This  is  quite  indisputable,"  Seebag  re 
plied,  "  especially  one  with  as  much  beauty, 
breeding,  and  talent  as  you.  Your  word  is 
law ;  you  shall  have  the  play." 

"Thank  you,  very  much,"  Antonette 
said  with  a  sweet  smile ;  and  having 
reached  the  cottage  where  she  and  Lud- 
milla  resided  she  gave  him  her  hand.  "I 
thank  you,"  she  repeated.  Seebag  kissed 
her  soft  and  slender  hand  and  left. 


VII. 

Baron  Zano,  finding  the  people  at  the 
Casino  too  commonplace,  rented  a  cabin 
high  up  in  the  mountains.  His  hostess 


56  THE  FOLLOWING: 

just  suited  him,  she  swore  like  a  trooper 
and  smoked  a  pipe.  A  day  or  two  affcer 
the  sentimental  meeting  with  the  ^poet 
Seebag,  Antonette,  dressed  in  elegant 
hunter's  costume,  stepped  into  the  Baron's 
cabin.  She  was  accompanied  by  a  hunter, 
who  carried  a  buck  she  had  just  shot. 

"You  here,  Baron!"  she  cried,  appar 
ently  surprised.  "  That  is  lucky !  I  am 
just  in  need  of  a  knight." 

"  Command  me  at  your  pleasure,"  re 
plied  the  Baron. 

"  Why,  that  is  quite  self-understood;  all 
you  have  to  do  is  to  obey.  Now,  then, 
Baron,  I  find  this  place  charming,  and  as  it 
is  evening  now,  I  will  stay  here  over  night, 
in  order  to  see  the  sun  rise.  Fellow,"  she 
said  to  the  hunter;  "you  may  take  this 
buck  down  to  the  village;  keep  the  meat, 
but  bring  me  the  skin  in  the  morning." 

When  the  hunter  had  gone,  the  Baron 


THE    FATED    STAR.  57 

said:  "  That  is  a  capital  idea,  your  staying 
hear  to  see  the  sun  rise;  I  was  just  about 
to  propose  that  to  you." 

"  Ah  !  but  do  you  see  these  heavy  boots, 
Baron  ?  I  cannot  be  without  my  slippers;  I 
must  have  my  slippers." 

"  What  is  to  be  done?"  the  Baron  asked, 
perplexed. 

"  That  is  very  simple,"  said  Antonette. 
"  Go  down  into  the  village  and  fetch  them." 

•'  That  is  certainly  very  simple,  ha,  ha> 
ha  !  very  simple,  indeed  —  simple,  indeed," 
the  Baron  laughed.  It  was  a  forced  laugh, 
but  Antonette  would  leave  him  no  time. 

"  Go  down  and  fetch  them,  and  be  quick 
about  it.  I  am  of  an  impatient  disposition, 
and  very  hungry,  — you  hear,  —  very  hun 
gry-" 

That  settled  it.      The  Baron  hastened 

down  to  the  village,  and  after  an  hour  or 
so  returned  with  a  pair  of  dainty  bullion- 


58  THE  FOLLOWING: 

embroidered  slippers,  fit  for  the  feet  of  a 
princess. 

"That  was  quick,  Baron,"  cried  Anto- 
nette.  "  You  shall  be  royally  rewarded 
for  your  obedience:  I  give  you  permission 
to  put  them  on  for  me." 

The  Baron  thought  this  really  a  royal 
reward,  and  was  delighted.  His  delight 
increased  when  she  slapped  his  hand  for  his 
awkwardness. 

The  Baron  was  a  Hungarian  magnate, 
and  they  never  do  things  by  halves.  At 
his  wink  a  man  stepped  into  the  room 
loaded  with  baskets,  containing  dainty  vi 
ands  and  choice  wines.  And  when  Anto- 
nette  set  the  table  and  arranged  everything 
with  housewifely  grace,  his  exuberance  of 
joy  made  him  speechless.  He  sat  in  the 
chair  and  gazed  at  her,  open-mouthed. 

Having  enjoyed  their  supper,  they  took 
seats  outside  of  the  cabin  and  gazed  at  the 


THE  FATED   STAR.  59 

mountains,  canons,  and  the  many  pictu 
resque  Alpine  villages,  which  the  moon 
light  revealed. 

Meantime,  Antonette  discoursed  upon 
her  tastes  and  peculiarities,  which  were 
sufficiently  bizarre  and  eccentric  to  kindle 
the  fire  of  love  in  his  baronial  breast.  She 
culminated  her  eccentricity  by  rolling  and 
smoking  a  cigarette.  Before  retiring  into 
the  shepherdess's  cabin  Antonette  enjoined 
upon  the  Baron  to  call  her  early,  so  as  not 
to  miss  that  beautiful  sight  in  the  Alps,  — 
a  sunrise. 

"  Do  you  know,  Baron,"  said  Antonette 
the  next  morning,  when  she  was  ready  to 
go  home  again,  "  I  am  very  tired  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  fetch  a  mule  to  carry  you  to 
the  village?"  the  Baron  asked. 

"  O  no!  what  are  you  here  for1?"  An 
toinette  said  with  a  bewitching  smile. 

"  Shall  I  carry  you  ? " 


60  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  Certainly;  I  am  sure  it  will  make  you 
happy  to  sigh  under  such  a  beautiful  bur 
den.  You  told  me  last  night  that  I  was 
beautiful." 

"Beautiful!  —  ha,  ha!  you  are  more 
than  beautiful.  You  are  divine,"  cried  the 
Baron,  in  ecstasy. 

"  This  is  better,  still,"  said  she.  "  Take, 
then,  thy  divinity,  arid  carry  her  to  her 
abode  in  the  village." 

The  Baron  saw  no  other  way  than  to 
carry  the  beautiful  girl  upon  his  back. 
When  they  neared  the  village,  Antonette 
commanded  the  Baron  to  halt.  Stepping 
down,  she  arranged  her  dress,  and,  taking 
his  arm,  they  walked  into  the  village. 


THE    FATED    STAB.  61 

VIII. 

"  Good  morning,  Mrs.  de  Fallon.  Is 
Madamoiselle,  your  daughter,  in  ? " 

"Ah,  Herr  Director  Kraut !  pray  enter ; 
I  will  call  her  at  once." 

Antonette  made  ,her  appearance,  before 
he  had  time  to  take  stock  of  the  furniture. 

"  Ah,  see,  the  Director  !  How  do  you 
do  ?"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand.  She 
was  not  at  all  humble.  She  expected  to 
see  him  this  morning,  because  Seebag  had 
brought  her  his  play  the  day  before,  and 
that  was  on  the  day  she  and  Ludmilla  had 
returned  to  Vienna.  The  instructions  of 
the  latter  had  been  minute. 

"  Just  tell  Seebag  to  send  word  to  Di 
rector  Kraut  that  he  had  written  a  play  for 
you,"  Ludrnilla  had  said.  The  result  was 
as  expected.  The  Director  made  his  ap 
pearance. 


62  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"You  are  a  witch  to  get  that  fellow 
Seebag  to  write  you  a  play;  why,  he  has 
persistently  refused  to  write  a  line  for  us." 

"Ah,  my  dear  Director  !  I  shall  not  ap 
pear  in  the  part  he  has  written.  In  fact,  I 
shall  never  go  on  the  stage  again,"  said 
Antonette,  sadly. 

"  Not  appear  in  the  role  Seebag  has 
written ! "  cried  the  Director,  springing 
from  his  seat.  "Not  go  on  the  stage 
again  !  Why  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  And 
this,  now  that  Baron  Zano,  Seebag,  and 
the  Count  are  interested  in  you.  Ye  gods ! 
are  you  insane  ? " 

"No,  Herr  Director.  But  I  recognize 
the  futility  of  ever  becoming  a  great  actress. 
I  doubt  the  soundness  of  my  talent.  With 
out  a  master,  how  could  I  possibly  succeed  ? 
The  interest  of  those  three  gentlemen  is 
flattering,  but  it  balances  lightly  against 
yours.  Your  interest  in  me  would  make  of 


THE    FATED    STAB.  63 

mediocrity  a  genius.  Under  your  instruc 
tion  I  would  have  no  doubts,  and  no  anxi 
ety  about  my  success." 

Her  arms  were  stretched  out  toward  him 
in  supplication,  while  her  face  expressed 
sorrow,  anxiety,  and  hope. 

Now,  as  a  matter  of  course,  this  was  a 
bold  demand  on  the  part  of  Antonette. 
For  the  "  royal  and  imperial  Director 
Adolphus  Kraut,"  as  he  was  styled,  could 
have  commanded  any  price  had  he  chosen 
to  instruct  aristocratic  maidens  in  elocu 
tion.  But  he  refused  such  offers,  because 
he  was  rich,  and  occupied  an  honorable 
position  under  his  sovereign.  But  Director 
Kraut  was  human;  his  heart  followed  the 
same  impulse  which  sways  the  prince  and 
the  pauper,  neither  of  whom  is  impervious 
against  the  power  of  love  and  beauty. 

When  Director  Kraut  heard  the  beau 
tiful  Antonette*  thus  humbly  pleading,  his 


64  THE  FOLLOWING: 

heart  gave  a  leap  in  his  fat  bosom,  and, 
springing  from  the  chair,  he  fell  on  one 
knee  before  her. 

"Adored  Antonette!"  he  cried,  "whose 
beauty  has  inspired  the  genius  of  a  See- 
bag,  and  brought  to  your  feet  a  Hungarian 
magnat, — I  cannot  resist  you!  Adored 
one !  I  will  do  as  you  desire ;  I  will  de 
vote  my  time  to  your  part.  I  will  be 
your  teacher,  guide,  slave,  anything  you 
desire!  You  shall  —  you  must  —  become 
famous." 

The  light  of  joy  and  victory  shone  in 
her  radiant  eyes  as  she  placed  her  alabaster- 
like  hand  upon  his  shoulder  and  begged 
him  to  rise.  Gently  he  took  her  hand  from 
off  his  shoulder  and  kissed  it,  and  she  let 
him  hold  it  until  the  rustling  of  a  silk  dress 
announced  the  approach  of  Antonette's 
mother. 

The  fat  Director  sprang  nimbly  to  his 


THE   FATED    STAB.  65 

chair,  and  folded  his  stubby  little  hands 
over  his  stomach,  his  face  taking  on  an  ex 
pression  such  as  conscience-stricken  children 
are  wont  to  show  after  some  naughty  act. 

Having  been  told  of  his  praiseworthy 
intention,  Antonette's  mother  was  profuse 
in  her  thanks  to  the  dear  Herr  Director. 

"  Only  the  dear  Lord  in  Heaven  can 
reward  you  for  such  a  noble  act,"  said 
Madame  de  Fallon. 

"  I  should  hate  to  wait  for  it,"  was  the 
Director's  mental  rejoinder;  but  he  was 
careful  not  to  express  it.  After  appoint 
ing  an  hour  for  the  reading  of  her  part, 
he  kissed  Antonette's  hand  with  the  ut 
most  deference,  bowed  to-  the  mamma,  and 
left. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Ludinilla  came  to 
the  house.  Being  told  by  Antonette  how 
she  had  managed  the  Director,  Ludmilla 
said  •  — 


66  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  I  think  you  will  succeed;  and  now  for 
the  last  cipher  in  the  principle  of  the  'rule 
of  four,'  the  great  and  only  Dr.  Grau." 


IX. 

A  week  had  passed  since  the  Director 
had  first  visited  Antonette.  He  had  kept 
his  appointment  with  regularity,  and  sank 
deeper  and  deeper  into  the  love-meshes  of 
the  beautiful  actress.  His  instruction  was 
a  revelation,  and  Antonette,  who  by  no 
means  lacked  talent,  filled  the  Director 
with  wonder  and  admiration.  He  prom 
ised  her  a  great  future. 

Believing  the  time  ripe  for  figuring  with 
the  cipher  which  went  by  the  name  of  Dr. 
Grau,  Antonette  sent  him  a  polite  note 
to  call  on  her. 

Knowing  the  character  of  the  man  she 
was  to  deal  with,  she  dressed — to  harmo- 


THE   FATED    STAR.  67 

nize  with  the  fated  part  she  was  to  play — 
in  a  gown  of  black  silk  trimmed  with  black 
velvet.  The  room  was  darkened,  and 
everything  looked  somber  and  ghostly. 
Upon  her  writing-desk  was  a  skull  and  a 
revolver.  Everything  looked  so  gruesome 
that  the  great  Dr.  Grau  involuntarily  shiv 
ered  when  he  was  shown  into  Antonette's 
room. 

She  received  him  with  quiet  dignity. 
Her  face  seemed  inexpressibly  sad;  the 
white  frill  around  her  neck,  contrasting 
with  the  black  gown  and  the  black  lace 
upon  her  head,  made  her  face  pale.  An 
indefinable  gloom  seemed  to  hover  about 
her  beautiful  mouth,  and  her  smile  spoke 
of  patient  resignation. 

Dr.  Grau  contemplated  her  features,  and 
thought  that  he  had  never  seen  anything 
so  beautiful  and  classical.  He  had  heard 
of  Seebag's  play,  "  The  Fated  Star,"  and 


68  THE  FOLLOWING: 

when  she  asked  his  opinion,  the  great  critic 
felt  pleased  and  flattered. 

"  An  author  may  write  a  play,  an  actress 
might  attempt  its  interpretation,  but  tow- 
erino-  over  both  stands  the  critic,"  said  she. 

o 

"  His  judgment  is  supreme;  it  is  the  only 
guide." 

In  her  conversation  she  displayed  so 
much  pessimism,  that  the  great  critic  was 
shocked. 

"  Believe  me,  dear  Doctor,"  she  said,  sadly, 
"  if  it  were  not  for  my  art,  I  would  have 
made  an  end  of  this  life  long  ago.  Oh,  how 
often  have  I  pressed  this  revolver  against 
my  temple  to  do  it !  " 

"  For  heaven's  sake,"  cried  Dr.  Grau, 
"  it  would  be  a  crime  to  rob  the  world  of 
such  a  genius,  such  a  philosophical  spirit, 
which  is  sure  to  revive  art  and  give  our 
stage  the  stamp  of  greatness.  I  shall 
take  this  revolver  with  me."  Slipping  the 


THE    FATED    STAR.  69 

weapon  into  his  pocket,  he  continued:  "  I 
could  not  sleep  in  peace  as  long  as  this 
weapon  was  on  your  desk." 

"You  are  right;  take  it  along,"  said 
Antonette,  sadly.  "  But  you  take  from 
me  only  the  mechanical  means  of  ending 
this  life.  You  must  do  more, —  if  you 
would  save  me,  dear  Doctor,  you  must  be 
come  the  physician  of  my  soul.  Come  to 
me  often.  In  a  spiritual  intercourse  with 
you,  I  may  regain  the  lost  joy  of  life." 

When  the  great  critic  left  Antonette,  his 
head  was  in  a  whirl;  he  admired  her  as 
much  as  the  author  of  "The  Fated  Star," 
the  eccentric  Baron,  and  the  convivial  Di 
rector. 

X. 

The  "  Ring  Theater,"  in  Vienna,  was  filled 

O  ' 

with  people,  and  hundreds  upon  hundreds 
were  turned  away,  unable  to  gain  admis- 


70  THE  FOLLOWING: 

sion.  Director  Kraut  had  foreseen  that 
the  "Burg  Theater"  would  not  be  ade 
quate  to  the  demand  for  seats  by  the  aris 
tocracy  and  the  haute  finance,  let  alone 
the  people ;  and  he  arranged  the  presenta 
tion  of  "  The  Fated  Star  "  at  the  more  com 
modious  "Ring  Theater." 

But  the  beauty  of  the  new  star,  whose 
pictures  were  to  be  seen  in  every  shop  win 
dow,  and  for  whom  the  famous  Seebag  had 
especially  written  "  The  Fated  Star, "  at 
tracted  all  classes  of  society  in  the  "  Kai- 
serstadt." 

In  one  of  the  proscenium  boxes  sat  Lud- 
milla  Lassen,  surrounded  by  four  gentle 
men.  Her  face  beamed  with  pleasure  as 
she  gazed  upon  the  vast  audience,  —  that 
brilliant  array  of  beauty,  refinement,  and 
wealth.  But  suddenly  her  brow  clouded; 
she  grew  silent,  and  seemed  strangely  ner 
vous. 


THE   FATfiD   STAR.  71 

"One  would  think  that  this  was  your 
debut,  you  are  so  pale  and  nervous,  beauti 
ful  Ludmilla,"  said  Baron  Zano. 

"I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  do  feel 
distressed  and  nervous  just  now,"  Ludmilla 
replied. 

Director  Kraut  uttered  a  loud  laugh. 
"Never  fear,  Ludi;  she  will  take  the  house 
by  storm." 

"  If  she  preserve  her  dignity  before  the 
audience  as  she  has  done  hitherto,  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  her  success,"  said  Dr. 
Grau,  sententiously. 

Seebag  alone  seemed  to  share  Ludmilla's 
nervousness,  but  he  said  nothing. 

7  O 

The  rythmic  tones  of  one  of  Strauss's 
waltzes,  especially  arranged  for  the  occa 
sion,  put  the  friends  of  Antonette  de  Fallon 
in  better  humor.  The  tremendous  ap 
plause  was  taken  as  a  good  omen;  but 
when  the  storm  of  applause  had  subsided, 


72  THE  FOLLOWING: 

Ludmilla's  nervousness  returned,  and,  driv 
en  by  an  unconquerable  anxiety,  she  rose 
and  announced  her  intention  of  going  to 
Antonette's  room. 

"She  might  want  my  assistance,"  Lud- 
milla  said. 

"I  would  not  go,  if  I  were  you,"  said 
Dr.  Grau;  "she  will  do  very  well,  —  if  no 
unforeseen  misfortune  is  brought  about  by 
the  people  in  the  cast." 

Hardly  had  he  uttered  the  last  words, 
when  two  huge  flames  were  seen  shooting 
up  from  the  footlights.  In  an  instant  the 
curtain  was  one  sheet  of  fire.  A  cry  of 
despair  rose  above  the  vast  audience.  It 
came  from  beneath  the  stage,  and  for  a 
moment  all  was  silent.  Then  ensued  a 
scene  such  as  is  beyond  human  power  to 
describe.  One  impulse  seemed  to  sway 
all.  They  rose,  and,  gazing  at  the  leaping 
flames,  were  transfixed  with  horror.  The 


THE    FATED    STAR.  73 

pale  faces,  the  rigid  bodies,  seemed  petri 
fied.  Soon,  however,  the  reaction  set  in  ; 
they  turned  as  if  with  one  accord,  and 
made  a  rush  for  the  door. 

Had  there  been  no  impediment,  they 
might  have  gradually  left  the  house.  But 
women  had  fainted,  and  the  men  who  bent 
down  to  assist  them  were  instantly  crushed 
down  and  trampled  on.  However,  the 
momentary  and  minute  opening  was  imme 
diately  closed  as  if  by  a  vice.  Nature's 
most  brutal  maxim  is  that  which  expresses 
the  law  of  self-preservation,  and  of  all  ani 
mals,  the  human  is  the  most  brutal  advo 
cate  and  executor.  In  the  theater,  big 
men  were  seen  to  put  their  hands  on  the 
shoulders  of  weak  women,  and  thus  lift 
themselves  up,  seeking  to  gain  exit  and 
possible  safety.  The  weaker  victims  broke 
down  with  a  shriek,  that  was  drowned  un 
der  the  feet  of  those  who  profited  by  the 


74  THE    FOLLOWING: 

temporary  opening.  Frantic  men  and 
women  leaped  from  the  balcony  and  landed 
on  the  heads  of  those  below,  whose  necks 
they  broke,  while  others  positively  walked 
on  the  heads  of  that  trampled,  despairing 
mass  of  humanity.  A  few  daring  ones 
saved  themselves  by  leaping  from  high 
windows. 

At  the  door,  which  unfortunately  opened 
from  within,  the  horrors  were  ghastly  in  the 
extreme.  The  awful  catastrophe  seemed 
to  have  robbed  many  of  their  reason. 

"  Open  the  doors !  Open  the  doors ! "  they 
shrieked.  "You  are  keeping  the  doors 
closed  on  purpose  to  burn  us  alive  ! "  They 
cursed  the  "  Fated  Star "  and  its  author, 
they  cursed  God  and  the  Emperor,  and 
with  blood-curdling  yells  fastened  their 
teeth  in  the  cheeks  of  those  against  whom 
they  were  pitched,  in  the  agony  of  unre 
lenting  fate.  And  now  ensued  a  scene, 


THE   FATED    STAR.  75 

the  ghastliness  of  which  surpasses  expres 
sion.  They  tore  each  others'  flesh,  biting, 
biting,  till  their  heads  fell  against  each 
other,  dead. 

At  length  the  doors  were  broken,  and 
those  nearest  fell  in  the  doorway ;  the  dy 
ing  were  trampled  to  death.  Like  a  gigan 
tic  wave,  the  mass  of  tortured  humanity 
rushed  into  the  aperture  where  the  stairs 
were  leading  down  into  the  hall,  and  in 
stantly  the  funnel-shaped  opening  was 
clogged  with  dead  and  dying. 

Among  those  who  escaped  with  their 
lives  were  the  Director,  Dr.  Grau,  —  the 
latter  a  raving  maniac, — Seebag,  and  Lud- 
milla.  Her  hair  had  turned  completely 
white,  but  she  was  more  composed  than 
Seebag,  who  wept  like  a  child,  and  seemed 
broken  in  spirit  and  body.  "  I  have  lost 
all,  all,"  he  cried;  "  every  thing  that  makes 
life  worth  living.  Antonette,  Antonette, 


76  THE  FOLLOWING: 

you  were  the  'Fated  Star,' — my  'Fated 
Star.'" 

Ludmilla  supported  him  as  they  made 
their  way  through  the  populace.  The 
tears  ran  down  her  pallid  cheeks. 

"  I  have  calculated  without  fate,"  she 
murmured. 


A  CHRISTMAS  PROMISE. 


i. 

\HRE  sei  Gott  in  der  Hoehe,  und  Friede 
auf  Erden,  und  den  Menschen  ein 
Wohlgef alien" 

"  Glory  be  to  God  in  the  highest,  and 
peace  on  earth  and  good  will  to  man." 

Some  one  had  opened  the  door  of  the 
church  on  the  Friedrichs  Platz,  in  Berlin, 
and  the  words  quoted  rang  out  into  the 
silent  square,  clear  and  distinct.  Opposite 
the  church,  in  the  "  Platz,"  that  was  cov 
ered  by  a  foot  and  a  half  of  snow,  but 
which  had  been  cleared  in  places  for  pedes 
trians,  a  lady  and  a  gentleman,  both  dressed 
in  elegant  furs,  their  feet  in  high  goloshes, 
walked  up  and  down.  They  were  young, 


78  THE  FOLLOWING: 

and  the  lady  was  very  beautiful.  She  was 
a  blonde,  and  her  cloak  and  head-covering, 
the  latter  in  the  shape  of  the  national 
Polish  "chapka,"  were  of  blue  velvet 
trimmed  with  silver  fox.  Needless  to  say 
that  this  enhanced  her  beauty,  which  was 
classical.  Her  companion  was  of  medium 
height,  of  dark  complexion,  and  mobile- 
featured.  People  might  have  called  him 
homely,  but  no  one  would  have  passed 
him  without  turning  the  head  to  take  an 
other  glance  at  the  retreating  form.  The 
remarkable  feature  in  the  ^gentleman's 
make-up  was  his  eyes.  Heavens  I  what 
eyes  he  had!  One  might  have  read  all 
the  passions  in  them,  but  not  stupidity. 
For  Nathan  Berger's  eyes  were  the  Eyes 
of  Genius.  They  were  jet  black,  and  one 
could  see  every  object  mirrored  in  their 
spectrum. 

When  he  heard  the  words  coming  from 


A   CHRISTMAS    PROMISE.  79 

the  church,  he  gazed  at  the  edifice,  then  at 
his  companion,  and  said: 

"In  there  they  sing  about  'peace  on 
earth.'  They  lie!  there  is  no  peace  on 
earth,  Sophie,"  he  cried,  taking  hold  of  the 
girl's  arm.  "Give  me  peace;  give  me  rest. 
The  yellow  leaves,  which  the  autumn 
winds  have  blown  from  these  trees,  are 
buried  beneath  the  snow, — they  are  at  rest; 
they  have  peace.  Ah  !  but — who  knows  ?" 
he  said,  as  if  soliloquizing, — "  maybe  some 
worm  is  gnawing  their  dry  carcasses;  then 
there  is  no  peace  for  them,  either.  Sophie, 
do  you  love  me  as  I  love  you  ?  Tell  me  ! " 

"  I  love  you  more  than  any  one  on  earth, 
Nathan;  but- 

".But,"  he  cried,  when  Sophie  hesitated, 
—  "  but  you  find  it  impossible  to  marry  me, 
because  your  parents  are  against  it.  Do 
you  remember,  love,  when  I  first  played  in 
Leipsic  ?  When  I  first  looked  into  your 


80  THE  FOLLOWING: 

beauteous  face,  —  ah  !  then  I  played  for  you 
only.  You  were  my  inspiration.  My  mind 
was  unconscious  of  my  playing,  because  my 
soul  was  with  you,  and  my  bow  was  guided 
by  the  hands  of  an  angel.  Ah,  dear  love  ! 
how  I  must  have  played  to  cause  so  much 
enthusiasm  among  the  people  !  —  and  yet  I 
was  utterly  oblivious  of  their  existence. 
For  me  no  one  existed  but  you,  love.  And 
now  it  is  all  over  with  me ;  I  cannot  play 
any  more;  my  violin  weeps,  —  it  weeps, 
weeps,  wreeps." 

"  Und  Friede  auf  Erden,"  came  from  the 
church  again. 

"And  peace  on  earth!"  he  mocked. 
"  Idiots !  don't  you  see  that  it  is  all  a 
farce  ?  There  is  no  peace,  I  tell  you.  I 
have  come  all  the  way  from  America  to 
your  land  of  music  and  learning.  I  was  a 
child  of  nature.  I  loved  God,  my  parents, 
and  my  violin,  and  —  I  had  peace.  It  is 


A    CHRISTMAS    PROMISE.  81 

but  six  months  since  I  came  here,  and  I 
am  stranded.  My  peace  is  gone,  —  because 
I  love  hopelessly."  The  last  word  was  al 
most  a  sob. 

Sophie  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder, 
and  her  tears  trickled  down  upon  his  fur. 
The  brilliancy  of  the  tears  caught  his  eye. 

"Don't  cry,  dear  love,  —  Sophie,  dear, 
don't  cry,"  he  said,  forgetting  his  own  an 
guish  at  the  sight  of  hers.  "  Is  there  no 
way  out  of  this  difficulty  ?  Come  with  me 
to  America.  My  parents  will  love  you  as 
they  love  me." 

"And  have  a  father's  curse  upon  my 
life;  break  my  mother's  heart.  Oh !  Nathan 
dear,  wait;  maybe  father  will  relent.  We 
are  young,  —  we  can  afford  to  wait  a  couple 
of  years." 

"  Ah,"  said  Nathan,  "  time  cures  or  kills. 
In  a  couple  of  years  from  now,  I  may  be 
dead,  and  you  —  married." 


82  THB  FOLLOWING: 

"  Never ! "  cried  Sophie.  "  I  will  never 
marry  any  one  but  you.  Wait,  darling,  for 
my  sake." 

"  I  will,"  said  he.  "  I  will  wait  for  you. 
I  will  hope  —  and  with  your  promise  it  will 
not  be  —  against  hope.  But  I  will  never 
live  to  see  you  married  to  any  one  else. 
Men  of  my  character  love  but  once,  and 
die." 

His  dark  brow  contracted  threateningly; 
his  eyes  flashed  fire,  but  it  was  for  a  mo 
ment  only,  and  as  the  church  door  opened 
again,  and  the  song  of  the  Christmas  an 
them  reached  his  ear,  —  "  Und  Friede  auf 
Erden,"  -  -  he  was  not  bitter  against  the 
glorious  promise.  He  pressed  Sophie's 
hand  to  his  heart.  "  We  may  yet  have 
peace  and  happiness,"  he  said. 

"  Amen,"  the  girl  responded,  and  as  the 
people  left  the  church  they  mingled  with 
the  crowd,  and  were  lost  to  view. 


A   CHRISTMAS   PROMISE.  83 

II. 

"What  sweeter  promise  can  possibly  be 
made  to  mankind  than  the  one  which  the 
angel  brought  to  the  lowly  of  Palestine, 
'  Behold,  I  bring  you  tidings  of  great  joy '  ? 
This  promise  of  great  joy  is  the  birth  of 
Christ,"  ran  the  preacher's  sermon  in  the 
church  on  the  Friedrichs  Platz.  "  Who 
would  not  rejoice  at  such  a  promise?  For 
we  know  that  the  Father  will  keep  His 
promise  of  giving  to  the  world  His  only 
begotten  Son.  It  is  in  our  hearts  to  be 
lieve  it.  For  are  not  we  —  weak  and  sin 
ful  though  we  be  —  eager  to  keep  our 
promises  given  to  those  we  love?  and  we 
rejoice  at  the  joy  we  shall  give  to  those 
who  expect  the  fulfillment  of  our  sacred 
promises."  As  he  uttered  the  last  sen 
tence,  a  sob  was  heard  that  rose  and  seemed 
to  flutter  through  the  vast  building.  Some 


84  THE  FOLLOWING: 

of  the  worshipers  turned  to  see  whence  it 
came. 

In  the  center  of  the  aisle  sat  Herr  Mar- 
low,  a  stout  and  choleric-looking  gentle 
man,  his  wife,  arid  his  daughter  Sophie; 
the  latter  was  weeping.  By  her  side  sat 
a  young  man,  elegantly  dressed,  who  bent 
over  her  and  whispered  in  her  ear.  In 
stinctively  she  drew  away  from  him;  he 
seemed  amazed,  and  his  low  forehead  con 
tracted;  he  looked  at  Herr  Marlow;  the 
latter  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  listened 
to  the  sermon. 

"  Are  you  ill,  Miss  Marlow  ? "  said  the 
young  man  by  her  side. 

She  made  no  answer. 

"Are  you  weeping  for  that  fiddler?" 
hissed  Mrs.  Marlow  in  Sophie's  ear.  "  I 
will  tell  your  father  as  soon  as  we  get 
home,"  the  mother  threatened.  At  this 
moment  the  preacher  said  "Amen I"  and 
the  congregation  rose. 


A    CHRISTMAS    PROMISE.  85 

The  organ  pealed  forth  a  grand  overture, 
and  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marlow  were  nearing 
the  door  the  former  stumbled  and  fell. 
Mrs.  Marlow  screamed,  and  Sophie  stood 
as  if  petrified.  A  great  commotion  en 
sued  ;  every  one  wanted  to  know  what  had 
happened.  A  physician  made  his  way  to 
where  Mr.  Marlow  lay;  he  looked  at  the 
prostrate  man,  who  was  blue  in  the  face, 
his  eyes  staring  into  vacancy,  and  a  white 
film  on  his  lips.  The  physician  placed  his 
hand  on  the  man's  breast,  rose,  and  said, 
"Apoplexy."  Mrs.  Marlow's  lamentations 
were  heart-rending.  "Dead,  dead!"  she 
cried. 

The  well-dressed  young  man  put  his  arm 

around  Sophie's  waist,  but  she  pushed  him 

away,  and  threw  herself  by  her  father's  side. 

"Oh,  father,  father,"  she  cried,  "what  an 

unhappy  lot  is  mine!" 

"  Sophie,  dear  Sophie,"  breathed  some 


86  THE  FOLLOWING: 

one  by  her  side.  Sophie  did  not  turn,  she 
knew  the  voice ;  it  was  Nathan  Berger. 
A  shiver  ran  through  her  frame,  and, 
forgetting  the  world  and  all  around  her, 
she  laid  her  head  on  his  breast  and  wept. 
All  of  a  sudden  Mrs.  Marlow's  voice  was 
heard,  shrill  and  unforgiving,  "Leave  us, 
please,"  she  cried. 

Nathan  Berger  rose  without  a  word  and 
left  the  church.  As  he  passed  by  the  well- 
dressed  young  man,  the  latter  threw  him  a 
look  of  malicious  hatred.  "  We  don't  need 
your  fiddle  here,  Herr  Berger,"  he  hissed. 
Nathan  Berger  never  turned.  He  thought 
that  it  was  just  one  year  since  Sophie  Mar- 
low  had  promised  to  be  his,  —  hoping  that 
her  father  would  give  in.  He  now  decided 
to  wait  another  year. 


A   CHRISTMAS    PROMISE.  87 

III. 

"  If  he  should  wake  while  I  am  away," 
said  Dr.  Wagner  to  the  young  man  at  the 
bedside,  "just  give  him  a  teaspoonful  of 
this  medicine.  The  crisis  is  over ;  he  will 
pull  through.  But  be  careful  not  to  let 
him  have  any  excitement;  no  one  is  to  be 
admitted.  I  will  be  here  again  this  after- 

o     • 

noon. 

On  the  bed,  pale  and  haggard,  lay  Na 
than  Berger.  On  his  lips  played  a  happy 
smile,  as  he  repeatedly  uttered  the  name 
"Sophie."  .... 

Suddenly  he  opened  his  eyes,  —  his  glo 
rious  eyes  had  not  lost  their  luster.  It 
was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning;  the  bells 
from  the  steeple  in  the  neighborhood  called 
the  people  to  the  worship  of  the  annually 
newly  born  joy,  —  the  birth  of  Christ. 
Nathan  asked  no  questions,  —  he  knew 


88  THE  FOLLOWING: 

that  it  was  Christmas.  He  recalled 
Sophie's  promise,  two  years  previous,  to  be 
his,  and  then  the  announcement  of  her  en 
gagement  to  Dr.  Pille.  He  remembered 
clearly  the  reading  of  the  paragraph ;  how 
each  word  and  each  letter  had  cut  his 
heart  and  had  fallen  like  molten  lead  upon 
his  soul.  Then  all  had  grown  dark;  he 
knew  no  more  until  he  awoke  this  morning. 
He  thought  that  he  must  have  fainted, 
and  that  his  friend  had  put  him  to  bed. 

It  was  about  time  to  rise ;  he  had  an 
appointment  to  play  at  the  Academy.  He 
wanted  to  get  out  of  bed,  but  was  quite 
unable  to  move  a  limb. 

"  Keep  perfectly  quiet,  Nat,"  said  his 
friend.  "  Here,  take  this  medicine  and 
try  to  sleep.  The  doctor  will  be  here 
again  this  afternoon." 

"How  is  that? "said  Nathan  Berger. 
"Havel  been  ill?" 


A   CHRISTMAS   PROMISE.  89 

"  Yes,  very,"  his  friend  replied.  "  We 
have  despaired  of  your  life;  but  you  pulled 
through,  like  a  good  fellow,  and  now,  if 
you  will  behave  properly,  you  will  soon  be 
able  to  be  about  again." 

"  Have  I  been  ill  long  ?  "  asked  Berger, 
astonished. 

*'  About  six  weeks,"  said  the  other. 

Nathan  sighed  and  turned  his  face  to 
the  wall,  without  making  any  remark. 
When  his  friend  smoothed  the  pillow  and 
asked  Nathan  to  try  and  sleep,  the  •  latter 
turned  his  face,  and  the  young  man  saw 
the  luminous  eyes  suffused  with  tears. 

IV. 

They  stood  in  a  row  for  blocks  and 
blocks  on  Mission  Street,  in  San  Francisco, 
each  one  eager  to  buy  a  ticket  for  the 
"  Berger  Concert"  Patti,  in  her  most  palmy 


90  THE  FOLLOWING: 

days,  could  not  have  boasted  of  such  an 
enthusiastic  throng.  Berger  had  played 
at  the  Metropolitan  Temple,  and  his  violin 
had  set  the  music-loving  San  Francisco 
people  wild  with  enthusiasm.  "  He  is 
crazy,"  said  some.  "  He  is  a  genius," 
others  said.  But  men  and  women  broke 
down  and  wept  at  the  tremendous  heart 
ache  that  burst  forth  from  his  instrument. 
And  for  weeks  his  playing  had  been  dis 
cussed  in  the  street,  in  clubs,  and  in  the 
parlor.  The  announcement  of  a  concert  at 
the  Grand  Opera  House,  therefore,  brought 
all  sorts  and  conditions  of  people  to  Mis 
sion  Street.  They  stood  in  the  pelting 
rain,  heedless  of  cold  and  inconvenience. 
Two  doors  from  the  entrance  to  the  theater 
stood  a  woman  dressed  in  black  and  heav 
ily  veiled.  She  had  been  in  line  nearly  an 
hour ;  her  teeth  chattered,  and  she  seemed 
faint.  A  gentleman  by  her  side,  observing 


A   CHRISTMAS    PROMISE.  91 

her  pitiful  condition,  at  first  wondered  that 
people  could  be  so  "  music  mad  "  as  to  en 
danger  their  lives.  He  spoke  to  her,  tell 
ing  her  to  go  home,  as  she  would  be  ill. 
But  she  merely  said:  "I  must  have  a 
ticket." 

Then,  out  of  sheer  pity,  he  placed  his 
broad  form  in  front  of  her,  so  as  to  shield 
her  from  the  rain.  He  was  a  gentleman  ! 
And  when  he  was  near  the  box-office  he 
took  her  money  and  bought  her  ticket. 
She  thanked  him  and  entered  the  Grand 
Opera  House. 

V. 

....  Nathan  Berger's  appearance  was 
greeted  with  tremendous  applause.  He  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it.  His  pale  face  was 
impassive;  but  his  eyes,  those  luminous 
orbs,  searched  the  vast  audience  as  an  as 
tronomer  the  skies,  and  when  the  uproar 


92  THE  FOLLOWING: 

had  subsided,  he  took  his  violin,  placed  it 
in  position,  and  with  a  sweep  of  his  bow 
played  a  symphony.  It  was  a  masterful 
rendition.  But  all  of  a  sudden  he  stopped, 
—  stopped  just  for  a  moment,  —  and  then 
there  were  heard  those  plaintive  sounds  as 
of  weeping  angels.  They  grew  in  intensity 
and  volume.  They  spread  over  the  vast 
house,  and  fell  upon  the  hearers  as  the  fore 
bodings  of  a  tremendous  calamity.  Then 
there  was  heard  a  sigh  that  fluttered  above 
the  people  and  mingled  with  those  sorrow 
ful  strains,  and  as  Nathan  Berger  drew  out 
his  bow  in  one  prolonged  tone  of  agony,  all 
the  strings  of  the  violin  snapped  with  a 
loud  report.  In  the  audience  a  cry  was 
heard,  and  Nathan  Berger  fell  upon  the 
stage  in  a  faint.  Unspeakable  confusion 
ensued.  Women  became  hysterical,  and  men 
rushed  upon  the  stage  to  assist  as  much  as 
possible.  Some  one  in  the  audience  called 


A    CHRISTMAS    PROMISE.  93 

for  a  doctor,  —  a  woman  had  fainted.  The 
doctor  was  on  hand.  It  was  the  woman  in 
black;  she  was  pale  as  death,  but  her  fea 
tures,  though  worn,  were  of  exquisite  beauty. 
"  She  is  dead,"  said  the  doctor.  She  was 
at  once  conveyed  to  the  receiving  hospi 
tal,  because  the  doctor  might  be  mistaken, 
as  some  thought.  But  she  was  dead;  she 
had  died  of  heart  failure.  In  her  pocket 
was  found  an  elegant  card-case,  with  black- 
rimmed  cards,  which  bore  the  inscription:  - 

"  Frau  Dr.  Sophie  Pille, 

Wittwe, 

18  Spandauer  Strasse, 
Berlin,  W." 

She  was  buried  by  the  German  pastor 
three  days  later,  and  his  text  was,  "Ehre 
seiGott  in  derHoehe,und  Friedeauf  Erden, 
mid  den  Menschen  ein  Wohlgefallen." 

It  was  Christmas  I 


THE  STORY  OF  VLADIMIR. 


SAY,  Burton,  what  has  became  of 
that  tall  Russian  friend  of  yours  with 
the  elegant  furs  and  patent  leather  top- 
boots?"  said  Anderson,  a  young  American, 
who  studied  medicine  at  the  University  of 
Heidelberg. 

"  He  is  dead,"  replied  Gustave  Burton, 
a  fellow-student. 

"  Died  in  his  boots,  I  suppose  ?"  said  the 
American. 

"  No,  he  died  of  a  broken  heart,"  the 
other  replied. 

"  Well,  that  is  romantic, —  a  vicious  Ni 
hilist  to  die  of  a  broken  heart.  He  died, 
at  least,  in  Siberia  ?  "  queried  Anderson. 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  95 

"It  would  have  been  in  the  general  fitness 
of  things." 

Burton  seemed  hurt  at  the  sarcasm,  and 
said:  "  He  was  worthy  of  a  better  fate;  he 
was  a  noble  fellow,  and,  far  from  being  a 
vicious  Nihilist,  he  was  an  enthusiast, 
courageous  and  refined." 

"  He  certainly  was  very  handsome,"  said 
Anderson.  "Do  you  mind  telling  me  what 
caused  his  death  ?" 

"His  story  is  best  told  in  his  letters," 
Burton  replied. 

"  I  should  very  much  like  to  read  them," 
said  Anderson. 

Burton  unlocked  a  metal  box,  from  which 
he  took  a  package  of  letters  tied  with  a 
black  ribbon 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  he.  "  Read  them 
and  judge  of  the  young  man's  character. 
He  was  not  a  Nihilist  when  he  was  here, 
nor  was  he  acquainted  with  the  leaders 


96  THE  FOLLOWING: 

of  the  Propaganda.  And  when  he  went 
to  Russia  he  said  that  he  did  not  care  suffi 
ciently  for  politics  to  bother  about  them. 
It  seems,  however,  that  Professor  Herten, 
a  friend  of  his  father,  took  him  in  hand  and 
initiated  him  in  the  mysteries  of  the  social 
agitation.  His  first  letters  speak  in  the 
most  glowing  terms  about  the  professor; 
the  most  interesting  are  the  two  last." 
Anderson  opened  one  of  them  and  read: — 


I. 

"  DEAR  GUSTAVE,  —  Six  months  have 
elapsed  since  I  wrote  you  last.  What  a 
change  these  six  months  have  wrought  in 
my  life  !  I  have  lost  my  passiveness  for 
politics  and — my  equilibrium.  I  am  in  a 
constant  fever  of  excitement.  What  I  have 
seen  surpasses  description.  Such  misery  1 
Such  ignorance  1  Such  brutality  1  And  we 


THE    STORY    OP    VLADIMIR.  97 

still  live  !  —  live  in  abundance  and  affluence; 
enjoy  all  the  seeming  blessings  which  educa 
tion  allots  us.  But  there  is  really  no  bless 
ing  in  it  at  all;  for  we  have  no  sooner  learned 
to  appreciate  life,  than  we  are  appalled  at 
the  awful  misery  which  surrounds  us. 

"  But  let  me  thank  God  for  the  privilege 
of  being  permitted  to  write  to  you  again. 
You  will  shudder  to  think  how  near  I  came 
to  being  prevented  from  indulging  in  such 
a  pleasure.  I  had  been  sent  to  St.  Peters 
burg,  and  on  my  arrival  was  met  at  the 
depot  by  two  gentlemen,  one  tall  and 
stately,  and  the  other  of  medium  height, 
and  swarthy-looking.  The  tall  gentleman 
gave  me  the  sign ;  but  I  hesitated  to  recog 
nize  him,  because  I  thought  I  had  seen  the 
other  gentleman  enter  the  car  I  had  been 
in,  at  a  way-station.  I  was  not  quite  sure, 
but  it  was  sufficient  to  keep  me  on  my 
guard.  And  yet  his  features  were  not  at 


98  THE  FOLLOWING: 

all  repulsive  or  suspicious-looking.  In  fact, 
they  looked  so  much  like  one  who  was 
near  and  dear  to  me,  that  the  similarity  was 
astonishing.  But  this  man  with  the  black, 
glossy  hair  and  whiskers  and  dark  com 
plexion,  I  was  sure  was  quite  a  different 
person.  While  I  was  thus  hesitating  a 
smile  flitted  across  his  face. 

" '  We  had  better  take  a  carriage  and 
carry  off  Vladimir,  without  delay.' 

"  The  sound  of  his  voice  caused  me  a 
faintness  of  heart.  I  was  about  to  make  an 
exclamation,  but  a  sharp  look  bade  me  be 
silent.  In  the  carriage  I  could  not  master 
myself  any  longer.  I  threw  my  arms 
around  the  dark  man's  neck.  '  Herten,'  I 
cried  with  a  sob,  'dear  Herten!' 

"  It  was  the  professor.  His  make-up  was 
so  perfect  that  I  did  not  recognize  him. 

"  'We  were  uneasy  about  you,'  said  ho, 
'  and  I  thought  it  best  to  be  on  hand.  I 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  99 

have  to  be  in  Moscow  in  a  week.  You 
will  stay  at  Romanov's  house  while  here.' 

"  Romanov  was  the  tall  gentleman.  But 
I  did  not  enjoy  long  his  hospitality,  having 
been  arrested  that  very  evening.  Roma 
nov  occupied  an  elegant  mansion  on  the 
Nevsky  Prospect.  After  our  arrival  at 
the  mansion,  we  were  brought  to  our  rooms, 
bathed,  and  shortly  after  dined.  After 
dinner  the  professor  attended  to  his  cor 
respondence,  Romanov  went  out,  and  I  left 
the  mansion,  with  the  intention  of  looking 
around  town. 

"  Not  far  from  the  Nevsky  Prospect  is 
a  magnificent  square,  in  the  center  of  which 
is  a  small  lake  surrounded  by  artificial 
grottos.  In  one  of  these  sat  a  gentleman, 
reading.  I  seated  myself  in  the  same 
grotto,  took  a  French  newspaper  from  my 
pocket,  and  began  to  read.  I  saw  that  my 
companion  was  scrutinizing  me,  and,  some- 


100  THE  FOLLOWING: 

what  annoyed,  I  turned  around,  struck  a 
match  and  lit  a  cigar.  He  arose,  and,  com 
ing  up  to  me,  politely  asked  for  a  light  for 
his  cigarette,  addressing  me  in  French.  He 

O  *  O 

was  very  amiable,  and,  seating  himself  by 
my  side,  said  that  he  was  a  Frenchman  and 
glad  to  have  found  a  countryman.  I  told 
him  that  I  was  not  a  Frenchman,  but  had 
learned  the  French  language  from  my 
father,  who  was  of  French  descent  and 
spoke  the  language  fluently. 

"  '  May  I  take  the  liberty  of  inquiring  his 
name?'  said  he,  in  a  very  winning  way. 
'Pardon  me,'  he  added,  gracefully,  'that  I 
have  not  told  you  my  name;  I  am  called 
Lenier, — Charles  Francois  Lenier.' 

"'You  are  very  kind,'  said  I;  'my 
father's  name  was  Pierre  Vladislav.' 

"  What  was  it  that  passed  over  his  face? 
It  contracted  as  if  in  great  pain;  but  this 
was  only  momentary;  for  when  I  asked  him 


THE    STORY    OP    VLADIMIR.  101 

if  he  was  ill,  he  looked  at  me  with  a  pleas 
ant  smile. 

"  'Ah!  it  is  nothing  but  that  trouble 
some  gout,  which  occasionally  gets  hold  of 
me.  It  is  over  now.  Do  you  intend  to  re 
main  long  at  the  capital?' 

11  'A.  few  weeks,'  said  I.  This  ended  the 
conversation;  he  bowed  and  left  the  grotto. 

"  On  reflection,  I  was  not  quite  pleased 
with  that  Frenchman.  I  had  certainly  no 
business  to  tell  him  my  name.  Putting 
the  paper  into  my  pocket  I  left  the  grotto, 
and  turned  toward  the  Nevsky  Prospect. 
But  had  not  gone  twenty  paces  when  two 
gendarmes  placed  their  hands  on  my  shoul 
ders  and  arrested  me  in  the  name  of  the 
Czar. 


"'So  you  are  Vladimir,  the  son  of  Pierre 
Vladislav/    said    the    pseudo-Frenchman, 


102  THE  FOLLOWING: 

who  was  none  other  than  the  Inspector  of 
Police. 

'"I  am,' said  I. 

"  '  Do  you  know  where  you  are  now  ? ' 

"  '  I  suppose  in  the  fortress  Peter-Paul/ 

" '  Exactly.' 

"  '  And  what  do  you  want  of  me  ? ' 

"  '  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  object  you 
have  in  coming  to  St.  Petersburg,  when  you 
are  a  student  in  Moscow  and  have  no  vaca 
tion  ? ' 

"  I  was  silent. 

"  '  Who  came  with  you  ? ' 

"  Still  no  answer. 

"  '  At  whose  house  do  you  stop  ? ' 

"  I  remained  silent. 

"  '  Answer,  you  dog,  as  I  have  the  means 
to  make  vou  talk,'  he  cried. 

V 

"  His  superficial  politeness  was  all  gone; 
he  was  a  Tartar. 

"'  You  may  have  the  means  to  torture 


THE    STORY    OF   VLADIMIR.  103 

me,'  said  I,  'but  you  have  none  to  make 
me  talk.  I  shall  say  no  more.' 

"  '  You  shall,  you  cursed  dog.  I  will  see 
whether  your  flesh  is  as  tough  as  your 
character;  but,  before  I  go  on,  let  me  tell 
you  that  you  may  choose  between  the 
mines  of  Siberia  and  a  life  of  pleasure. 
Give  me  the  name  of  the  rebels  in  Moscow 
and  here,  and  you  shall  be  set  free,  pro 
tected  by  me.  You  are  young,  possess 
talent,  and  we  can  use  talented  and  loyal 
servants.  Choose ! ' 

"I  said  nothing. 

"  At  a  motion  of  the  Inspector's  hand,  a 
Cossack,  evidently  used  to  such  scenes,  took 
off  my  coat  and  stripped  me  to  the  waist. 
Another  motion  and  my  hands  and  feet 
were  tied,  and  I  was  placed  on  a  long  bench. 

"'You  have  still  time,'  said  my  execu 
tioner. 

"But  I  kept  silent. 


104  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"How  can  I  describe  their  fiendish  bru 
tality  ?  My  back  was  cut  to  the  bone  by  the 
knout.  Consciousness  was  about  leaving 
me,  when  I  felt  a  sponge  pressed  to  my 
lips,  a  cold  shiver  passed  through  my  body, 
and  all  was  dark. 

"When  I  awoke  to  consciousness  again, 
I  looked  into  the  face  of  Professor  Herten. 

"'Where  am  I?'  I  said,  feebly. 

"'With  me,  Vladimir/ 

" '  But  how  came  I  here  ? '  I  asked,  as  the 
remembrance  of  what  I  had  suffered  gradu- 
ually  came  back  to  me. 

"  '  When  you  were  arrested,  I  was  but  a 
few  steps  from  you.  Discretion  demanded 
my  non-interference.  You  could  not  escape 
the  clutches  of  the  police  then,  but  I  could 
save  you  afterwards.  I  was  apprised  of 
your  fate  by  the  physician,  who  is  an  old 
friend  of  mine.  It  was  he  who  pressed  the 
saturated  sponge  to  your  month,  while  hold- 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  105 

ing  your  pulse,  and  pronounced  you  dead. 
You  were  left  with  instructions  to  be  buried. 
As  soon  as  you  feel  strong  enough,  we  will 
leave  for  Moscow,  although  you  need  not 
fear  the  "late"  Police  Inspector  any  more.' 

" '  What !  Did  you  say  "  late  "  ?  Is  he 
no  longer  in  his  position?' 

"'Better than  that,  —  he  is  dead  ! ' 

"  I  was  quite  overcome.  Dead !  He 
who  had  witnessed  my  father's  sufferings 
and  torn  the  flesh  from  my  bones.  Surely 
he  deserved  death ;  but  I  did  not  think  it 
would  overtake  him  so  quickly. 

"  The  professor  handed  me  a  newspaper, 
wherein  it  was  stated  that  the  Police  In 
spector  had  been  assassinated  in  bed.  I 
could  not  read  any  further.  The  letters 
danced  before  my  eyes.  I  swooned  away. 

"  I  am  again  in  Moscow,  and  but  few 
know  of  my  existence,  as  the  police  would 


106  THE  FOLLOWING: 

be  only  too  glad  to  make  me  an  object  of 
their  earnest  consideration.  I  live  in  dif 
ferent  quarters,  bear  a  different  name,  and 
not  one  —  not  even  my  mother  —  would 
know  me  by  my  appearance. 
"  Adieu. 

"Ever  your  affectionate 

"  VLADIMIR." 

II. 

"BERNE,  SWITZERLAND,  May  1,  1883. 
"  My  DEAR  GUSTAVE,  —  Some  time  has 
elapsed  since  you  last  heard  from  me.  I 
have  been  on  the  highest  pinnacle  of  bliss, 
and  have  fallen  into  the  deepest  deep  of 
despair.  In  this  happy  country,  where 
liberty  is  the  heirloom  of  every  child,  I 
am  comparatively  free,  —  that  is,  I  am 
not  harassed  by  the  police.  But  alas !  I 
shall  not  live  long  to  enjoy  life,  as  the 
physicians  have  declared  my  malady  in- 


THE    STORY    OF   VLADIMIR.  107 

curable.  Indeed,  they  could  cure  or  at 
tempt  to  cure  every  known  disease;  but  is 
there  a  cure  for  a  broken  heart  ?  I  am 
therefore  prepared  for  the  worst.  Worst  I 
—  did  I  say  worst  ?  Well,  I  retract  that  ex 
pression  ;  death  to  me  has  nothing  terrible. 
It  will  redeem  me  from  my  misery,  and  I 
ought  to  contemplate  its  approach  with  the 
satisfaction  we  accord  a  friend.  Although 
the  recital  of  my  sad  experience  causes  me 
intense  pain,  yet  I  know  that  in  your  heart 
there  is  a  responsive  chord  for  the  sorrows 
of  a  friend. 

"  It  was  in  the  forenoon  of  a  bleak  No 
vember  day,  1880,  I  was  at  my  desk  writ 
ing,  that  Professor  Herten  entered  and 
told  me  that  I  was  to  leave  for  St.  Peters 
burg  at  once. 

"  '  Be  cautious  and  quick,'  he  said.  '  The 
reports  are  very  disquieting.  The  firebrands 
Hartman  and  Russiakoff  are  brewing  mis- 


108  THE  FOLLOWING: 

chief,  and  that  crazy  Petrovsky  is  backing 
them  with  money.  There  is  but  one  man 
whose  influence  can  do  some  good,  Count 
Datleff.  We  are  watched,  and  you  must 
try  all  means  to  get  them  to  desist.  If  they 
do  not,  it  will  spoil  the  work  of  years.  No 
extremes ! ' 

"  Receiving  money  and  a  passport,  I  left 
that  night  for  St.  Petersburg.  There  my 
message  caused  a  flurry  among  those  who 
had  a  desire  to  see  bloodshed.  A  letter 
from  Datleff,  that  arrived  simultaneously 
with  me,  cautioned  not  to  make  any  attempt 
that  was  liable  to  double  the  vigilance  and 
activity  of  the  police.  I  was  ordered  to 
take  a  message  to  Datleff  at  once,  but  to 
take  the  chaussee  instead  of  the  railroad. 
This  command  somewhat  surprised  me.  If 
the  message  was  so  pressing,  why  was  I  to 
take  a  slower  means  of  conveyance  ?  I  ex 
pressed  myself  to  that  effect;  they  gave  me 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  109 

the  reason  of  the  trains  being  watched,  etc., 
and  I  was  forced  to  go  by  the  post-chaise. 
I  reached  the  village  of  K —  -  without  any 
mishap,  and,  being  very  tired,  I  asked  the 
post-master  to  show  me  a  room  where  I 
could  rest  until  about  to  resume  my  jour 
ney.  He  conducted  me  to  a  pleasant  room, 
and  in  a  few  moments  I  was  fast  asleep. 

"  I  was  roughly  aroused,  and  looking 
about  me,  saw  three  Cossacks  at  my  bed 
side. 

"  One  of  them,  a  corporal,  ordered  me  to 
get  up  immediately.  I  jumped  up,  and, 
without  asking  any  questions,  followed 
them.  Resistance  on  my  part  would  have 
been  madness,  for  it  would  have  resulted  in 
death.  I  had  to  deliver  a  message  to  Dat- 
leff,  and,  who  knows,  an  opportunity  for  es 
cape  might  offer  itself  on  the  road.  They 
handcuffed  and  put  me  in  a  'troyka,'  where 
I  sat  between  the  corporal  and  one  of  the 


110  THE  FOLLOWING: 

Cossacks,  both  holding  their  carbines  on 
their  knees  ready  to  fire,  while  the  third 
Cossack  drove  the  horses.  I  had  never 
experienced  such  a  drive.  The  horses 
raced  as  if  driven  by  furies  ;  it  almost  took 
my  breath  away.  Suddenly  we  came  to  a 
bend  in  the  road,  and  before  the  maddened 
horses  could  be  turned,  the  '  troyka '  dashed 
against  a  tree.  We  were  literally  lifted 
from  the  vehicle  and  thrown  into  the  com 
pact  snow,  while  the  team  fell  into  a  deep 
ditch.  It  was  marvelous  that  none  of  us 
was  hurt  except  the  driver,  who  was  stunned, 
but  revived  in  a  few  minutes.  The  corporal 
and  one  of  the  Cossacks  looked  after  the 
team.  The  '  troyka '  was  broken  beyond 
repair,  one  of  the  horses  had  been 
killed,  and  two  were  extracted  after  the 
traces  had  been  cut.  The  corporal  and  one 
of  the  Cossacks  mounted  each  a  horse, 
while  the  third  drove  me  in  front  of  them. 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  Ill 

It  was  quite  dark  when  we  reached  one  of 
those  monjick  huts  so  frequently  found  in 
the  Russian  steppes.  The  horses  being 
tired,  and  my  guardians  hungry,  they  lost 
no  time  in  getting  under  shelter. 

"'Hey,  monjick!  Hay  for  my  horses, 
and  vodky  for  us,'  cried  the  corporal,  as 
he  entered  the  hut. 

" '  None  to  spare,  Cossack,'  replied  the 
peasant. 

"  The  corporal,  infuriated  at  this  curt 
reply,  rushed  at  the  peasant;  but  at  that 
moment  his  young  wife  appeared  with  a 
light  in  her  hand.  The  corporal  stepped 
back,  bewildered  by  her  beauty. 

"But  I  could  have  screamed  with  joy, 
for  in  that  peasant's  wife  I  recognized 
Katinka,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  old 
Cahileff,  one  of  my  father's  tenants.  The 
recognition  was  mutual,  but  an  almost 
imperceptible  motion  of  her  lips  told  me  to 


112  THE  FOLLOWING: 

keep  quiet.  Oh!  I  was  quite  sure  Katinka 
would  save  me,  and  with  a  light  heart  I 
sat  down  upon  a  three-legged  stool  by  the 
fire. 

"  '  What  do  you  wish,  sir?'  she  asked,  in 
a  sweet  voice. 

" '  I  want  some  hay  for  my  horses, 
gospodyinna  (madam).' 

" '  Ivan,  give  the  corporal  some  hay, 
while  I  prepare  some  soup,'  said  she  to  her 
husband. 

"  Ivan  said,  '  Harasko '  (very  well),  and 
left  the  room,  accompanied  by  one  of  the 
soldiers.  While  Ivan  and  the  soldier  were 
outside  attending  to  the  horses,  Katinka 
put  a  stone  jug  with  whisky  on  the  table, 
and  told  the  Cossacks  to  help  themselves. 
They  needed  no  second  invitation,  and 
very  soon  their  natural  tendency  toward 
singing  asserted  itself.  They  sang  one  of 
those  plaintive  songs,  full  of  longing  for 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  113 

their  homes  and  sweethearts.  Ivan's  wife, 
too,  sang  a  German  song.  But  if  the 
Cossacks  had  understood  the  meaning  of 
those  words  I  doubt  not  but  that  they 
would  have  cut  her  down  in  spite  of  her 
beauty. 

"  '  Behind  the  house,'  sang  she,  '  to  the 
right,  stands  my  cousin's  saddled  horse. 
He  is  asleep  upstairs.  When  the  soldiers 
are  deep  in  whisky,  then,  dear  Vladimir, 
take  the  horse  and  ride  a  mile  on  the  road 
until  you  come  to  a  white  house.  There 
my  uncle  lives;  he  will  save  you.' 

"  In  the  mean  time  Ivan  and  the  Cossack 
returned;  they  seemed  on  the  best  of 
terms.  The  Cossack  introduced  Ivan  to 
the  corporal  as  an  old  acquaintance,  and  all 
drank  vodky. 

11  The  corporal  found  the  vodky  salubri 
ous  for  his  temper;  he  offered  me  some 
vodky,  and  at  Katinka's  solicitation  re- 


114  THE  FOLLOWING: 

moved  my  fetters.  Soon  the  steaming 
soup  was  served;  but,  hungry  as  I  was,  I 
could  eat  nothing,  my  mind  being  on  the 
venture  I  was  to  make.  Seated  between 
the  Cossacks,  I  made  every  attempt  to 
swallow  a  spoonful  of  the  soup;  but  I  was 
trembling  with  agitation,  and  my  teeth 
chattered  against  the  tin  spoon  as  often  as 
I  put  it  into  my  mouth.  If  the  Cossacks 
had  divined  my  thoughts,  there  is  hardly 
any  doubt  but  that  I  would  not  have  been 
in  a  position  now  to  write  this  story. 

"  But  the  human  mind  is  a  mysterious 
world  of  its  own,  and  hence  I  was  per 
mitted  to  brood  deliriously  over  my  plans 
of  escape  while  the  Cossacks  tranquilly  ate 
their  supper.  Suddenly  a  sound  was  heard 
from  without,  that  froze  the  blood  in  our 
veins. 

"  It  was  the  howl  of  wolves  and  the 
dying  shriek  of  a  horse  torn  to  pieces  by 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  115 

those  terrible  beasts,  that  abound  in  the 
Russian  steppes  only. 

"  '  The  horses  ! '  cried  Ivan  and  the  Cos 
sacks  simultaneously ,  and  Ivan  rushed  to 
the  door. 

"  *  Take  your  rifle,'  cried  Katinka. 

"  '  I'll  go  with  you,'  said  the  corporal. 

"  '  And  so  will  I,'  added  one  of  the  Cos 
sacks. 

"  They  rushed  out,  and  I  was  left  alone 
with  one  Cossack.  Katinka,  being  a  Kus- 
sian  woman,  knew  that  a  political  prisoner 
would  as  lief  face  wolves  in  his  attempt  to 
gain  liberty  as  to  go  to  Siberia.  She  there 
fore  cried  in  German  :  '  Now  or  never  ! ' 

"  I  can  scarcely  describe  what  happened 
in  the  next  few  moments.  My  hand  still 
trembles;  my  mind  gets  confused,  and  I 
have  to  close  my  eyes  and  pause  when  I 
think  of  it.  Quick  as  a  flash,  I  jumped  up, 
grasped  the  stone  jug  and  struck  the  Cos- 


116  THE  FOLLOWING: 

sack  a  blow  on  the  head  ;  he  fell  like  a  log. 
Snatching  the  pistols  from  his  belt,  and 
telling  Katinka  to  cry  for  help  after  a  few 
minutes,  so  as  to  free  her  from  the  sus 
picion  of  aiding  in  my  escape,  I  ran  from 
the  room. 

"  I  found  the  saddled  horse,  and,  firing 
one  of  the  pistols  as  a  signal,  I  soon  heard 
Katinka  cry  for  help. 

"  It  was  a  race  for  life.  In  a  few  min 
utes  I  was  at  the  house  of  Katinka's  uncle. 
When  the  latter  heard  who  I  was,  he  said : 
'  Don't  stop  here !  You  are  lost  if  you 
do.  The  Cossacks  will  surely  be  here 
shortly.  Take  a  fresh  horse  and  ride  direct 
to  Badin  Castle  ;  it  is  a  straight  road.  You 
cannot  miss  it.  It  is  eighty  vierst.  You 
will  get  there  by  ten  or  eleven  o'clock  to 
morrow  morning.  Don't  spare  the  horse  ; 
he  is.  strong.' 

"  A  few  minutes  later  I  was  on  my  way 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  117 

to  Badin  Castle,  which  I  reached  at  noon 
the  next  day. 

"  Count  Datleff,  the  gentleman  to  whom 
I  was  to  deliver  an  awful  message  was 

O 

about  forty-five  years  of  age.  He  was  six 
feet  in  height,  finely  proportioned,  and 
very  handsome  of  features.  He  was  in  his 
study,  —  a  spacious  apartment,  the  walls 
showing  a  fine  library.  The  table  was 
covered  with  maps  and  papers.  Address 
ing  me,  he  said  :  — 

"  '  So  you  are  Vladislav's  son  ?  Your 
father  was  a  brave  man,'  he  added  with  a 
far-off  look.  Then,  after  a  moment :  '  Can 
you  imagine  who  was  the  -cause  of  your 
arrest  ? ' 

"  '  I  cannot,'  I  answered. 

"  *  It  was  evidently  a  ruse  to  keep  you 
from  delivering  the  message,'  he  said.  As 
if  speaking  to  himself,  he  continued  :  '  They 
don't  send  plain  Cossacks  to  arrest  political 


118  THE  FOLLOWING: 

suspects.  Ah !'  he  cried  ;  '  it  is  so,  it  must 
be  so.  They  sent  word  to  the  police  that 
you  are  one  of  the  men  who  committed  the 
church  robbery.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !'  he  laughed. 
'  That  is  quite  a  tumble  down  from  your 
political  pinnacle,  young  man  !  You  were 
merely  arrested  as  a  church-robber.  Tres 
lien!  The  Cossacks  will  be  sent  to  the 
mines  for  permitting  you  to  escape.  But 
you  are  here.  I  dare  say  they  would  roast 
those  fellows  alive,  if  they  knew  what  bird 
slipped  through  their  fingers.  Well,  thrice 
welcome,  sir  !  What  is  the  message  V 

"  As  he  uttered  the  last  word,  his  face 
grew  somber;  and  well  it  might,  for  I  ut 
tered  an  awful  word.  '  DEATH,'  I  said. 

"When  he  heard  that  word  he  jumped 
from  his  seat,  and  laying  his  powerful  hand 
on  my  shoulder,  said,  in  a  voice  of  thunder: — 

"  '  Is  that  their  message  to  me  ?  Are 
you  sure  you  make  no  mistake  ? '  He  was 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  119 

fearful  in  his  passion.    However,  I  repeated 
the  word. 

" '  No,'  he  cried;  '  no  blood.  I  don't 
want  it.  We  are  not  assassins.  We  want 
rights  and  justice,  but  these  are  not  the 
means  to  get  them.  In  order  to  get  a 
constitutional  government,  they  would 
murder  — ' 

"  '  Sir,'  said  I,  '  we  are  not  alone.' 
"  Between  the  curtains  leading  to  an 
other  apartment  stood  a  girl  whose  trans 
cendent  beauty  surpasses  expression;  but 
she  was  pale  and  trembling.  I  had  per 
ceived  her  just  as  the  last  words  had 
passed  Count  Datleff's  lips.  At  my  re 
mark,  he  turned  around,  and  seeing  the 
girl,  he  extended  his  arms,  saying:  - 

"  '  Eveline,  my  child,  what  do  you  wish  ?' 
"  She  came  to  his  arms,  rested  her  head 
upon  his  shoulder,  and,  looking  up  to  him, 
said  with  ineffable  sweetness:  — 


120  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  'My  father!' 

"  There  was  a  world  of  meaning  in  those 
two  words.  They  told  him  that  she  was 
willing  to  help  him  bear  his  sorrow.  How 
can  I  describe  the  beauty  of  the  scene  ?  It 
was  the  most  divine  sight  my  eyes  had 
ever  beheld.  He,  tall  and  strong,  in  his 
face  supreme  sorrow,  in  his  sigh,  broken 
hopes,  suppressed  anger,  and  with  his  arm 
encircling  the  form  of  a  woman  that  in  its 
frailness  and  pliancy  seemed  to  me  that  of 
a  supernatural  being. 

"  When  her  father  introduced  her  as  his 
only  child,  I  could  find  no  words.  I  could 
make  no  remark  in  'ordinary  language. 
All  that  I  might  have  said  seemed  to  me, 
at  that  moment,  banal  and  evanescent. 

"  She  gave  me  her  hand,  smooth  as  ala 
baster.  I  touched  the  rosy  tips  of  her  fin 
gers  with  my  lips. 

"  '  Eveline,  my  child/  said  her  father,  '  I 


THE    STORY   OP   VLADIMIR.  121 

will  leave  you  here  with  my  young  friend 
Vladimir.  I  shall  return  in  a  couple  of 
hours.  I  trust  you  will  be  friends.'  He 
kissed  Eveline  on  the  forehead,  and  left. 

"  I  cannot  repeat  what  we  talked  about. 
Two  hours  had  passed  as  swiftly  as  two 
seconds.  Oh,  most  heavenly  seconds !  and 
when  her  father  returned,  I  knew  that  my 
fate  was  sealed,  that  I  loved  Eveline  with 
all  the  might  of  my  soul,  — that  her  image 
was  indelibly  stamped  in  my  heart,  and 
that,  had  she  bid  me  die,  I  should  have 
considered  it  divine  bliss. 

"  *  You  are  friends,'  said  her  father,  see 
ing  our  beaming  faces.  '  I  am  glad  of  that. 
Leave  us  now,  dear.  We  will  dine  in  half 
an  hour.' 

"My  instructions  were  given  to  me  with 
a  clearness  and  precision  characteristic  of 
the  man. 

"  '  The  train  for  Moscow  leaves  in  two 


122  THE  FOLLOWING: 

hours.  Go  at  once  to  Professor  Herten 
and  tell  him  my  orders  are:  "  No  Blood  !" 
We  have  not  sunk  so  deeply  as  to  murder 
a  man  who  has  done  much  good  in  his  time, 
and,  but  for  bad  counsel,  might  have  clone 
better.  The  conquest  of  popular  ignorance 
must  precede  popular  liberty.  If  we  edu 
cate  the  Russian  people,  they  will  liberate 
themselves;  but  let  not  the  assassin  think 
he  can  accomplish  it.' 

"  Shortly  after  dinner  I  left  for  Moscow. 
Herten  was  delighted  to  see  me.  He 
doubted  if  Datleff  s  message  would  have 
any  influence  at  this  late  hour.  I  do  not 
know  if  he  was  disobeyed,  or  if  his  message 
was  delivered  at  all.  A  few  weeks  later 
the  world  was  shocked  at  the  regicide  com 
mitted  by  brutal  assassins  and  furthered 
by  misguided  visionaries.  A  week  later  I 
went  to  Berlin. 

"  I  had  left  Russia  with  conflicting  feel- 


THE    STORY    OF   VLADIMIR.  123 

ings  in  ray  heart.  Count  Datleff's  life,  so 
noble  and  precious,  was  in  imminent  dan 
ger;  and  who  could  tell  but  that  the  one 
I  prized  above  all  things  on  earth  might 
share  her  father's  fate1?  My  sorrow  and 
anxiety  increased,  as  days  and  weeks  passed 
without  any  intelligence  from  Count  Dat- 
leff.  I  could  control  myself  no  longer.  I 
must  go  to  her. 

"  I  left  Berlin  for  Moscow,  the  danger 
scarcely  less  than  my  intense  longing  to 
see  Eveline.  I  arrived  at  Badin  Castle 
three  days  later.  The  door  opened,  and  I 
stood  face  to  face  with  Eveline. 

"  When  the  confusion  incident  to  my 
unexpected  arrival  had  passed,  she  told  me 
of  the  mental  suffering  her  father  had  en 
dured  since  I  had  gone.  Her  father,  she 
said,  had  an  idea  that  I  was  in  England; 
and  now  I  had  come  back  to  the  lion's  den. 

" '  Why    did     you     come?'    she    said. 


124  THE  FOLLOWING: 

'  They  have  been  hunting  for  you  in  every 
house.  You  are  in  great  danger.' 

"  I  was  silent,  and  listened  to  that  sweet 
voice,  which  thrilled  my  soul. 

"  '  I  came/  I  managed  to  articulate, —  'I 
came  to  see  you.  I  believed  your  father 
and  yourself  in  danger.' 

" '  And  why  do  you  wish  to  suffer  with 
our  misfortune  ?  Go  and  save  yourself.' 

"  '  Never  ! ' 

" '  Why  ? ' 

"  '  Because  I  love  you ;  because  I  would 
suffer  everything  to  save  your  sweet  life.' 

"  As  I  spoke,  she  turned  pale  and 
pressed  her  hand  to  her  heart. 

"'Eveline,  dear  Eveline  !'  I  cried;  'par 
don  me  if  I  have  hurt  you;  but  my  heart 
is  surcharged  with  love,  —  one  great  love 
for  you,  my  darling,  my  dear  love  !  I  have 
loved  you  from  the  moment  I  first  saw 
you.  Oh,  tell  me  that  I  have  not  hurt 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  125 

you.  Give  me  some  hope;  tell  me  that  I 
may  love  you,  —  you  alone.' 

'•'I  looked  at  her  face,  suffused  with 
tears  and  smiles,  and  I  sank  on  my  knees. 
'  Eveline,  my  love  ! '  I  cried.  She  took  my 
head  in  her  hands. 

" '  Vladimir,  dearest  Vladimir,'  she 
breathed.  I  caught  her  in  my  arms  ;  and 
thus  we  stood,  united  in  one  great  love,  her 
head  on  my  breast,  her  eyes  closed,  pale 
as  a  lily.  Nor  did  we  hear  the  opening  of 
the  door  until  the  tall  figure  of  the  Count 
stood  before  us. 

"'Vladimir!  Eveline!' said  he,  smiling; 
he  did  not  seem  surprised  at  seeing  me. 
Involuntarily  we  sank  on  our  knees  before 
the  man,  —  so  loving  as  a  father,  so  kind 
as  a  friend,  and  so  great  as  a  philosopher. 

"  '  My  father  ! '  said  Eveline  with  emo 
tion,  '  are  you  displeased  with  me  1  I  love 
him  1 ' 


126  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  '  My  dear  child,'  said  he  with  ineffable 
tenderness,  '  it  is  for  your  happiness.  How 
can  I  be  displeased  with  you  ?  Act  as 
your  own  heart  dictates.' 

"  Then,  turning  to  me,  he  said  :  'Vladi 
mir,  into  your  keeping  I  intrust  my  child. 
I  know  that  you  will  make  her  happy.  I 
am  only  grieved  that  you  cannot  remain 
here.  There  is  no  salvation  for  those  poli 
tically  outlawed  in  Russia.  Nor  is  there 
any  hope  for  those  under  suspicion.  It  is 
only  a  question  of  time  when  I  shall  be 
called  away  from  you.  When  I  am  away, 
Vladimir,  do  not  forget  that  in  this  hour  I 
have  given  you  the  most  precious  jewel  in 
my  possession,  my  Eveline.  Cherish  her, 
and  promise  me  that  in  the  future  you  will 
leave  politics  alone  for  her  sake.  Give 
me  your  hand.' 

"  I  gave  him  my  hand,  while  tears 
blinded  my  vision  and  sobs  shook  my 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  127 

frame.  Poor  Eveline!  she  threw  herself 
on  her  father's  breast  and  wept. 

"We  stood  thus  for  several  minutes. 
Datleff  held  his  hands  over  our  heads  as  in 
benediction. 

"  Suddenly,  heavy  treads  and  the  clink 
of  spurs  were  heard  in  the  hall.  '  Children/ 
said  Count  Datleff,  '  my  time  has  come.' 
He  had  hardly  finished,  when  the  doors 
opened  and  an  officer  of  rank  appeared. 

"  He  bowed.  '  It  is  my  painful  duty, 
Count,'  he  said,  '  to  ask  you  to  accompany 
me.' 

"'Very  well,  Baron  Larin;  I  am  ready,' 
said  Datleff. 

"With  a  cry  of  despair  Eveline  threw 
herself  on  her  father's  neck.  'O  rny  dear 
father!  let  me  go  with  you.  Baron,  you 
are  an  old  friend,  take  me  along.  We  are 
both  guilty ;  we  will  suffer  together.' 

"  I  could  see  a  nervous  twitching  in  the 
Baron's  face. 


128  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"/Order  your  affairs,  Count/  said  he,  in  a 
whisper.  'The  castle  is  surrounded.  lean- 
not  help  there;  but  you  might  secure  your 
valuables.  The  young  folks  can  take  them 
away;  they  will  be  unmolested.' 

"  '  Then  assist  them  to  leave  the  coun 
try/  said  the  Count. 

"'I  will/  Larin  replied,  and  gave  the 
Count  his  hand. 

"Turning  to  Eveline,  he  continued: 
'  Countess,  this  house  will  be  searched  by 
the  Commissair.  If  no  inconvenient  papers 
are  found,  there  might  yet  be  hope/ 

"  '  Impossible/  said  the  Count.  '  There 
is  enough  evidence  in  this  house  of  my  free 
thoughts  to  send  me  to  Siberia  for  life. 
Baron,  I  will  go  with  you/ 

" '  They  shall  not  find  the  evidence/ 
cried  Eveline,  and  before  we  could  stop  her, 
she  caught  a  firebrand  from  the  hearth  and 
ran  into  her  father's  study.  Larin  shook 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  129 

his  head  and  smiled,  but  made  no  effort  to 
follow  her,  and  in  a  few  minutes  we  saw 
the  flames  rise  and  the  smoke  fill  the  house. 
Not  until  the  fire  had  made  sufficient  head 
way,  did  Larin  open  the  door  to  the  hall 
and  give  the  alarm  to  the  soldiers.  But 
nothing  could  be  done;  and  before  the 
Commissair  arrived,  Badin  Castle  was  in 
flames. 

" '  My  duty  is  done,'  whispered  Larin  as 
he  saw  the  Commissair;  'you  are  saved, 
Count.  I  think  the  minister  will  revoke 
the  order  for  your  arrest  now.' 

"  This  was  so;  the  Commissair  tele 
graphed  an  '  utter  lack  of  incriminating 
evidence/  after  he  and  the  Count  had  held 
a  brief  conversation. 

" '  I  have  paid  dearly  for  our  liberty,' 
said  Datleff  to  us,  a  few  hours  later,  while 
on  our  way  to  Moscow,  '  but  I  am  not  de 
ceived  by  the  Minister's  revocation.  I  re 
peat,  it  is  but  a  question  of  time.' 


130  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"We  were  quietly  married  in  Moscow, 
and  prepared  for  our  journey  to  Switzer 
land.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  third  day 
after  our  arrival  at  Moscow,  Count  Dat- 
leff  said:  '  My  children,  I  have  concluded 
to  go  to  Berlin,  and  have  procured  pass 
ports  for  Eveline  and  myself.  You,  Vladi 
mir,  will  travel  on  your  own  passport.  I 
consider  it  safer.' 

"  We  rejoiced  at  this  news,  and  the  next 
morning  found  us  comfortably  lodged  in 
our  sleeping-car,  on  the  train  going  to 
Berlin. 

"  I  breathed  more  freely  when  I  had 
passed  the  Russian  frontier.  We  staid  in 
Berlin  six  weeks,  and  were  ready  to  pro 
ceed  to  Berne,  in  Switzerland.  I  had 
gone  out  to  say  good  by  to  some  friends. 
I  might  have  been  out  a  little  more  than 
an  hour;  but  when  I  returned  to  the  hotel, 
both  Eveline  and  her  father  were  gone. 


THE    STORY    OF    VLADIMIR.  131 

"  Believing  them  on  a  promenade,  I  took 
a  book  and  read.  But  when,  after  two 
hours,  they  still  remained  away,  I  grew 
restless. 

"  I  was  just  going  down  to  inquire,  when 
the  porter  came  up  and  handed  me  a  card. 

"  '  Bear  up,  darling;  we  are  taken  to  our  doom. 

" '  EVELINE.' 

"  '  Who  gave  you  this  card?'  I  asked  the 
porter,  with  a  passion  that  made  him  stand 
back. 

"  '  The  young  lady,'  he  said.  '  Three 
men  came  here  in  a  closed  carriage,  and 
the  old  gentleman  and  the  young  lady  went 
with  them.' 

"  I  heard  no  more,  nor  did  I  see  any 
thing.  I  seemed  to  sink  into  black  space. 
For  weeks  I  hovered  between  life  and 
death.  I  rallied  for  a  brief  time,  and  went 
to  Switzerland;  but  I  feel  that  my  time 
has  come. 


132  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  Adieu,  my  dear  friend,  till  we  meet  in 
a  happier  life.  Yours  ever, 

"  VLADIMIR." 

"  Wonderful,"  said  Anderson. 

"Yes;  the  ways  of  the  Russians  are 
queer,"  Burton  rejoined.  "  Here  is  a  dis 
patch,  evidently  sent  to  Vladimir  after  his 
death."  The  dispatch  ran  as  follows:  — 

"  Count  Datleff  and  his  daughter  have  been  par 
doned  and  their  possessions  restored.  They  are 
on  their  way  to  Berne.  LARIN." 

"This  dispatch  was  sent  to  me  with  a 
lot  of  papers  and  the  notice  of  Vladimir's 
death,"  remarked  Burton. 

"Poor  fellow!"  said  Anderson. 


THE  AUTOMATIC  EXECUTIONER. 


|R.  GIERS,  Feldon  has  gone,  and  left 
things  down  in  Mexico  in  confusion. 
I  have  just  received  a  dispatch;  he  has 
taken  along  all  the  stock,  securities,  and 
the  private  papers.  You  must  go  down  at 
once  and  look  the  matter  up.  Get  those 
papers  at  all  hazards.  As  the  scoundrel 
left  but  yesterday,  he  must  be  within  reach. 
My  private  car  will  take  you  as  far  as  the 
City  of  Mexico;  there  you  take  the  narrow 
gauge  to  Orizaba.  Your  old  friend  Jack 
son  will  meet  you  at  the  station  and  assist 
you.  Get  ready.  Steam  is  up;  in  five 
minutes  you  will  have  to  start." 

The  morrow  was  to  have  been  my  wed- 


134  THE  FOLLOWING: 

ding-day.  I  was  sorry  to  think  of  the 
annoyance  which  this  sudden  departure 
would  cause  my  beautiful  Beatrice  and  her 
family.  I  had  long  learned  to  make  the 
interests  of  my  chief  my  own;  delay  was 
impossible;  I  could  not  even  bid  them  good 
by.  Duty  before  everything. 

With  feelings  in  which  bitterness  was 
curiously  blended  with  satisfaction  —  satis 
faction  with  the  new  evidence  of  confidence 
that  I  was  giving  —  I  said  that  I  would  be 
ready. 

Returning  to  my  office,  I  hastily  wrote 
a  note  to  Beatrice,  took  a  box  of  cigars, 
and  in  another  two  minutes  found  myself 
in  the  chief's  private  car.  He  handed  me 
written  instructions  and  a  check-book,  and 
wishing  me  a  safe  journey,  gave  the  signal 
to  the  engineer.  A  shrill  whistle,  and 
away  we  sped  at  a  tremendous  rate. 

I  read  the  instructions  carefully.     Spe- 


THE    AUTOMATIC    EXECUTIONER.  135 

cial  stress  was  laid  upon  the  recovery  of 
those  private  papers  which  the  chief  had 
mentioned.  Being  acquainted  with  the 
country,  I  was  sanguine  of  success,  if  1 
could  but  get  hold  of  Feldon,  although  I 
did  not  know  him  personally. 

We  reached  El  Paso  almost  before  I 
knew  it.  On  we  sped  through  Mexico,  un 
til  we  arrived  at  Queretaro,  where  an  acci 
dent  happened  to  the  car.  Fortunately  we 
were  within  twenty  minutes  of  the  night 
express  from  Aguas  Calientes  to  the  City 
of  Mexico,  which  stops  in  Queretaro. 

Having  telegraphed  to  the  chief  regard 
ing  the  accident,  I  ordered  the  car  and  the 
engine  side-tracked  until  the  next  day,  and 
procured  a  ticket  for  a  first-class  compart 
ment  to  the  City  of  Mexico. 

I  say  "a  first-class  compartment"  be 
cause  the  ticket  agent  had  informed  me 
that  the  express  was  made  up  of  English 


136  THE  FOLLOWING: 

coaches,  with  doors  on  both  sides.  I  don't 
feel  myself  called  upon  to  discuss  the 
difference  between  English  coaches  and 
American  cars,  but  although  there  are 
some  disadvantages  in  English  coaches, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  the  passengers  face 
each  other,  a  first-class  compartment,  when 
occupied  by  one  or  two  passengers,  is  cer 
tainly  far  more  convenient  than  the  Amer 
ican  car,  with  its  two-seat  chairs.  The 
seats,  which  run  the  whole  width  of  the 
English  compartment-coaches,  are  comfort 
ably  upholstered,  with  soft  arm-rests  and 
head-cushions. 

I  was  talking  with  the  engineer,  who 
swore  at  the  Mexicans  in  choice  machine- 
shop  terms,  when  the  express  rushed  into 
the  station.  I  was  ushered  into  a  com 
partment  by  the  conductor ;  the  engine 
gave  a  shriek,  and  we  sped  toward  the 
City  of  Mexico. 


THE  AUTOMATIC  EXECUTIONER.     137 

The  light  in  the  compartment  being 
rather  dim,  I  did  not,  on  entering,  observe 
the  presence  of  any  other  person.  But  I 
was  made  aware  that  I  had  a  fellow-trav 
eler  by  something  like  a  growl.  My  com 
panion  had  evidently  been  disturbed  in  his 
slumber,  and  did  not  greatly  relish  it.  As 
I  looked  more  closely,  I  saw  that  he  was 
well  dressed,  of  gigantic  size,  and  evidently 
an  American.  I  apologized  for  the  intru 
sion,  but  he  made  no  answer.  I  had  been 
traveling  alone  the  whole  day,  and  was  in 
clined  to  talk  to  some  one,  so,  nothing 
daunted,  I  stepped  across  to  his  corner, 
and  offered  him  a  cigar ;  he  refused,  and 
turned  his  head  towards  the  window. 

I  said  no  more,  and,  drawing  my  soft  felt 
over  my  eyes,  I  tried  to  sleep.  But  —  how 
shall  I  say  it?  —  a  mysterious  power  seemed 
to  keep  me  awake.  Opening  my  eyes,  they 
met  the  steady  gaze  of  the  stranger.  Again 


138  THE  FOLLOWING: 

I  closed  them,  and  feigned  sleep  by  a  good 
imitation  of  a  snore,  while  I  looked  at  him 
through  half-closed  lids. 

His  gaze  was  still  upon  me;  turn  as  I 
might,  my  eyes  reverted  to  his,  and  the  an 
noyance  which  I  felt  at  first  soon  changed 
into  horror,  for  suddenly  his  eyes  took  that 
strange  brilliancy  peculiar  to  savage  beasts 
and  the  insane.  The  longer  I  looked  at 
him,  the  firmer  my  conviction  grew  that  I 
was  the  companion  of  a  madman.  It  is 
literally  true  that  this  knowledge  positively 
paralyzed  me,  for  as  I  thought  of  rising,  I 
could  not  move.  The  horror  grew  so  in 
tense  that  I  felt  the  perspiration  oozing 
from  every  pore  of  my  body. 

Thoughts  chased  one  another  through 
my  brain  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning; 
my  school  days,  my  life  as  a  newsboy,  my 
meeting  with  the  chief,  my  first  step  to  an 
honored  position,  my  lovely  affianced,  my 


THE  AUTOMATIC  EXECUTIONER.     139 

rise  to  the  highest  position  in  the  gift  of 
the  chief,  ray  race  after  Feldon, — all  flashed 
before  my  mind;  and  there  I  was,  my  eyes 
spellbound  by  those  of  the  madman. 

I  tried  to  recall  my  energy;  I  sought  to 
coax  my  limbs  into  mobility.  I  reasoned 
with  my  fingers,  asking  them  to  move  just 
a  little;  I  knew  if  they  but  moved  one 
hundredth  of  an  inch,  1  should  be  safe.  I 
tried  to  persuade  them  to  move  in  the  di 
rection  of  my  overcoat  pocket,  where  I  had 
my  revolver.  Life  is  so  sweet  (I  reasoned); 
I  am  young,  beloved,  and  well  to  do,  and 
you  know  that  I  am  a  dead  shot;  move, 
oh,  move  just  a  little!  All  in  vain;  they 
could  not  or  would  not  obey  my  will.  In 
sheer  despair  I  tried  to  scream,  but  while 
I  heard  the  wheels  roll  upon  the  rails, 
heard  the  breathing  of  the  madman,  whose 
face  was  livid  with  mania,  and  heard  the 
beating  of  my  own  heart,  I  could  not  utter 


140  THE  FOLLOWING: 

a  sound.  My  God  I  Dumb  and  palsied  in 
the  bloom  of  life,  in  the  chase  after  fortune, 
at  the  gate  of  domestic  paradise !  Help  1 
help!  But  no  sound  escaped  my  lips,  and 
those  terrible  eyes  still  upon  me! 

Now  he  rose  and  slowly  came  to  my  side. 
What  a  tremendous  fellow  he  was!  —  his 
head  touched  the  ceiling.  He  stooped  and 
looked  into  rny  eyes;  his  glance  went  right 
through  me.  He  put  his  hand  into  my 
overcoat  pocket,  out  of  which  he  took  my 
revolver  and  slipped  it  into  his  own  pocket; 
as  he  did  so  he  smiled  a  ghastly  smile, 
more  horrifying  even  than  his  gaze.  Now 
he  tapped  me  on  the  forehead,  at  the  same 
time  saying,  ""Get  up,  Mister!" 

His  touch  acted  on  me  like  a  powerful 
battery;  I  was  up  in  an  instant.  Strange 
to  say,  and  as  I  stood  on  my  feet,  my  facul 
ties  returned,  but  with  them  the  recogni 
tion  that  I  was  absolutely  at  the  disposi 
tion  of  the  merciless  maniac. 


THE    AUTOMATIC    EXECUTIONER.  141 

For  a  moment  I  thought  he  had  hyp 
notized  me,  and  wanted  some  sport,  but  I 
soon  found  out  my  mistake;  he  was  obvi 
ously  insane. 

"What  do  you  want  of  me,  sir  ?"  I  cried. 

"I  want  you!"  he  replied,  ferociously. 

"  You  want  my  money,  I  suppose.  Here 
it  is/'  and  I  handed  him  my  pocket-book. 

"  Keep  your  money;  I  am  not  a  robber; 
I  am  a  philanthropist." 

"  And  what  do  you  want  of  me?  " 

"I  want  to  show  you  an  invention  of 
my  own;  the  automatic  executioner." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  it,"  said  I. 

"  Shall  you  ?     I  am  glad  of  that." 

With  this  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  cu 
riously  twisted  cord,  and  continued  thus : 
"  I  have  worked  on  this  for  years,  and  am 
at  last  ready  to  show  the  world  what  real 
genius  is  like.  As  sheriff  of  Montreal,  I 
have  executed  many  criminals  in  my  time, 


142  THE  FOLLOWING: 

but  their  last  struggle  was  always  a  disgust 
ing  sight.  My  invention  does  away  with 
all  this;  one  end  of  the  electro-automatic 
executioner  is  fastened  to  a  hook,  the  noose 
is  slipped  over  the  criminal's  head,  and  in 
a  fraction  of  a  second  he  is  with  the  silent 
majority.  Do  you  see  the  advantage  of 
my  invention?" 

I  thought  it  advisable  to  humor  the 
trend  of  his  mania,  and  said,  "  This  is 
truly  a  great  invention.  I  should  like  to 
introduce  this  among  the  politicians  of  San 
Francisco." 

"Introduce  it,  eh  ?  Why,  yes,  certainly; 
it  shall  be  introduced,  but  I  will  do  that 
myself!" 

"And  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  in  the 
matter?"  I  asked,  trembling  as  the  thought 
dawned  upon  me  that  he  possibly  wanted 
to  try  his  invention  on  me.  His  answer 
confirmed  my  fears.  Ho  said: 


THE    AUTOMATIC    EXECUTIONER.  143 

"You?  Why,  you  shall  be  made  glorious 
by  verifying  the  utility  of  my  invention. 
I  have  been  hunting  in  every  country  in 
the  world  for  the  proper  person,  worthy 
enough  for  that  grand  purpose,  but  Heaven 
bade  me  wait  until  this  evening.  I  knew 
you  would  come,  and  am  prepared  to  exe 
cute  Heaven's  command." 

Imagine  my  horror !  If  I  could  have 
fainted,  I  should  have  experienced  relief, 
and  would  have  been  executed  without 
consciousness.  But  my  nerves  had  grown 
strong  during  the  last  moments.  I  had 
perfect  control  over  my  faculties  and  feel 
ings,  and  thought  of  means  to  escape  an 
untimely  death. 

Involuntarily  I  looked  at  the  bell-cord 
line,  which,  unfortunately  for  me,  was  on 
the  other  side  of  the  compartment. 

Madmen  are  cunning;  he  caught  my 
look,  and  said,  "It  is  useless  to  look  for 


144  THE  FOLLOWING: 

that  rope  there  ;  this  train  does  not  stop  at 
any  of  the  way-stations;  nor  would  Heaven 
permit  this  work  to  be  interrupted.  When 
we  reach  the  City  of  Mexico,  I  shall  be 
famous  and  you  in  heaven  I " 

For  a  moment  I  thought  of  jumping  at 
the  door,  opening  it,  and  saving  myself; 
but  the  idea  was  not  feasible,  because,  at 
the  rate  the  train  was  moving,  I  would  be 
dashed  to  death,  were  I  lucky  enough  to 
escape  the  grasp  of  the  powerful  maniac. 

"  Make  haste,"  said  he,  drawing  his 
watch ;  "  the  execution  must  be  completed 
before  five,  and  it  is  now  twenty  minutes 
to  five." 

This  intelligence  caused  me  a  thrill  of 

O 

joy;  since  force  would  only  hasten  my  aw 
ful  end,  I  must  seek  to  gain  time.  The 
train  was  due  in  the  City  of  Mexico  at  five 
o'clock;  if  I  could  divert  him  for  that  length 
of  time,  I  was  saved. 


THE    AUTOMATIC    EXECUTIONER.          145 

"  My  dear  sir,"  said  I,  "  I  am  quite  will 
ing  that  you  should  try  your  invention  on 
me,  but  before  I  die,  I  ask  you  to  grant  me 
a  favor." 

"  What  is  it?     Speak  !  it  is  granted." 

"  I  wish  to  write  my  will,  and  a  letter  to 
a  lady  to  whom  I  am  betrothed,  and  would 
ask  you  to  mail  the  letters  in  the  City  of 
Mexico.  Will  you  do  that?" 

"  Certainly,  with  pleasure;  only  be  quick 
about  it." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much.  Ah,  how  pro 
voking  ! "  said  I,  searching  in  my  pockets. 
"  I  have  no  paper  to  write  the  letters. 
Could  you  oblige  me  with  a  sheet  of  paper  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir;  I  have  plenty  of  that," 
said  he,  extracting  from  his  breast-pocket  a 
tablet  of  paper  and  two  envelopes. 

While  he  was  taking  the  paper  from  his 
pocket,  I  managed  to  break  the  point  of 
my  pencil. 


146  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  Just  see  how  troublesome  I  am  !  The 
point  of  my  pencil  has  broken  off,  and  I 
have  no  knife  to  sharpen  it." 

"Oh,  no  trouble  at  all,"  he  replied.  "Just 
hand  me  the  pencil  and  I  will  sharpen  it 
for  you."  With  this  he  took  a  keen-edged 
dagger  from  the  belt  under  his  coat  and 
sharpened  the  pencil.  He  was  evidently 
as  well  armed  as  he  was  physically  power 
ful.  Having  sharpened  the  pencil,  he 
sheathed  his  dagger,  and  told  me  to  go  on. 

I  thought  of  writing  a  lot  of  nonsense,  but 
could  not,  for  the  life  of  me,  —  which  really 
was  at  stake,  — compose  a  simple  sentence. 
In  my  despair  I  copied  the  alphabet.  I 
drew  the  characters  with  care,  in  order  to 
fill  up  time  and  space.  Oh,  my  sorry  fate  ! 
how  slowly  the  moments  passed  by!  how 
miserably  slow  the  train  moved  on  !  I  had 
often  whistled  a  gallop  to  the  "  tac "  the 
wheels  were  beating  as  they  touched  the 


THE  AUTOMATIC  EXECUTIONER.     147 

connecting  points  of  the  rail,  but  now  they 
were  so  slow  that  funeral  music  would  have 
required  a  quicker  tempo. 

At  last  the  sheet  was  full,  and  my  exe 
cutioner  asked  me  if  I  were  ready. 

"  I  am  ready  with  my  will,  but  I  have 
not  written  the  letter  to  my  affianced." 

"  Well,  write  quickly,"  said  he,  and  his 
look  was  threatening. 

"  I  should  like  to  describe  to  her  your 
wonderful  invention.  Can  you  show  me 
how  it  works,  so  that  I  may  write  intel 
ligently  on  the  subject." 

4<  Decidedly,  I  will.  You  are  a  good  fel 
low,  entirely  unlike  those  cowards  in  Mon 
treal." 

"Ah,  but  where  will  you  fasten  it  ?"  I 
asked. 

"Nothing  easier;  I  slip  the  end  through 
that  lamp-bracket  in  the  ceiling, — just  the 
place  for  it." 


148  THE  FOLLOWING: 

So  said,  so  done;  but  while  he  was  thus 
occupied,  I  cast  a  glance  at  the  window, 
and  my  heart  gave  a  leap,  for  I  saw  the 
first  houses  of  the  great  Mexican  city. 
To  gain  a  little  more  time  was  all  that  I 
needed;  but  my  life  depended  on  my  doing 
so. 

"  Behold  how  it  is  done,"  said  he,  hold 
ing  the  cord  in  one  hand. 

"  Ah,  but  you  would  have  to  engage  a 
living  executioner  to  slip  the  noose  over 
the  criminal's  head,"  I  argued. 

"  There  is  where  you  are  at  fault.  You 
need  no  one  at  all  to  assist  in  the  execution. 
The  criminal  himself  slips  it  over  his  head, 
the  automatic  executioner  being  so  charged 
with  electricity  that  it  no  sooner  touches 
his  neck  than  it  kills  him." 

He  became  frightfully  excited,  and  in  his 
rage  did  not  hear  the  whistle  of  the  locomo 
tive.  The  sound  inspired  me  with  hope 


THE    AUTOMATIC    EXECUTIONER.  149 

and  courage.     Now,  another  minute  and  I 

O  ' 

am  safe ! 

"  This  is  indeed  the  greatest  invention  of 
the  age,"  said  I. 

"  The  only  thing  that  perplexes  me  is 
how  you  prevent  the  criminal  from  slipping 
out  of  the  noose.  You  would  then  need  a 
man,  after  all,  to  keep  the  noose  in  the 
proper  place." 

"  There  is  the  great  point  of  my  inven 
tion.  The  electricity  draws  the  noose  to 
gether  the  instant  it  slips  over  his  head 
and  —  " 

"  Can  you  draw?  "  I  interrupted  him. 

"  No,"  he  replied.     "Why?" 

"  Because,  I  should  like  to  send  my  affi 
anced  a  sketch  of  this  wonderful  execu 
tioner;  she  would  enjoy  it.  But  as  you 
cannot  draw,  and  as  I,  who  am  a  first-class 
sketcher,  could  not  possibly  make  a  sketch 
after  my  death,  she  will  have  to  do  with- 


150  THE  FOLLOWING: 

out  it.  She  will  be  doubly  sorry,  because 
she  edits  a  newspaper. 

"  A  newspaper,  did  you  say?"  he  cried, 
his  eyes  flashing  wildly.  "  They  refused 
to  mention  my  invention  in  the  papers  in 
Montreal,  the  curs  !  " 

"My  affianced  would  be  only  be  too 
happy  to  do  it,  if — " 

"  If  what  ?  "  he  cried.  "  Why  don't  you 
finish  ?" 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  if  you  would  con 
sent  to  slip  the  noose  over  your  head,  so 
that  I  might  sketch  you.  She  would  pub 
lish  the  description  only  if  it  is  accompan 
ied  by  a  sketch." 

"  This  is  a  capital  idea,"  said  he;  "  and  if 
you  are  quick  about  it,  I'll  do  it." 

"I  will  be  quick,"  I  cried.   "Get  ready." 

I  had  hardly  finished  when  he  slipped 
the  cord  over  his  head;  but  quicker  than 
thought  I  was  at  the  door,  opened  it,  and 


THE   AUTOMATIC    EXECUTIONER.          151 

jumped.  I  fell  into  a  crowd  of  people, — 
we  were  at  the  station  of  the  City  of  Mex 
ico.  As  I  jumped  I  heard  the  gurgling 
sounds  of  the  strangling  maniac.  Regain 
ing  my  feet  I  hastened  to  the  compartment, 
anticipating  the  horrible  sight  of  the  mad 
man,  strangled  by  the  invention  of  his  dis 
ordered  mind.  But  imagine  my  surprise, 
when,  on  reaching  the  place  of  my  late  ad 
venture,  I  found  it  —  vacant. 

Had  I  been  dreaming,  or  was  I  mad? 
Had  all  that  I  suffered  been  an  hallucina 
tion? 

The  curious  crowd  made  such  a  noise 
that  the  conductor  came  forward,  eager  to 
know  the  cause  of  the  tumult.  I  asked 
him  if  he  knew  my  traveling  companion,— 
if  he  had  seen  him  leave.  He  looked  at 
me  in  blank  astonishment;  he  had  seen  no 
one  leave  the  compartment  except  myself, 
— in  the  peculiar  manner  described.  He 


152  THE  FOLLOWING: 

said  that  I  had  been  the  sole  occupant  of 
that  compartment  from  Queretaro;  and, 
turning  to  the  crowd,  said,  in  Spanish, 
"The  American  is  crazy."  This  caused  the 
crowd  to  disperse,  panic-stricken.  Seeing 
that  I  could  get  no  satisfactory  explanation 
from  the  conductor,  I  took  my  overcoat  and 
bought  a  ticket  for  Orizaba.  At  the  sta 
tion  there  I  was  met  by  Jackson,  who  re 
ceived  me  very  cordially,  and  informed  me 
that  Feldon  had  been  found.  I  had  ex 
perienced  so  many  shocks  in  the  last  few 
hours,  that  this  news  hardly  surprised  me. 
Still,  I  asked,  "Where  was  he  found]" 

"In  Jalapa,"  was  Jackson's  reply. 

"When  was  that?"  I  queried. 

"Last  night,"  said  Jackson. 

"What  has  he  got  to  say?"  said  I, 
sternly. 

"  To  say  1 "  cried  Jackson ;  "  the  poor  fel 
low  has  nothing  to  say;  he  is  as  crazy  as  a 


THE    AUTOMATIC    EXECUTIONER.  153 

loon.  I  pity  him.  It  took  six  men  to 
manage  him  last  night." 

We  had  just  arrived  at  the  quartz- mills, 
and  Jackson  conducted  me  into  the  room 
where  Feldon  was  strapped  to  an  iron  bed 
stead,  a  raving  maniac.  As  I  looked  into 
his  face,  I  nearly  fell,  the  shock  was  so 
tremendous.  Great  God  !  it  was  my  trav 
eling  companion  of  the  night  before  ! 

When  I  told  Jackson  the  cause  of  my 
agitation,  he  was  perplexed.  "  The  auto 
matic  executioner  is  the  very  thing  he 
raved  about.  We  found  him  half  dead, 
with  a  riata  around  his  neck.  This  is  very 
strange  !"  said  Jackson. 

My  story  met  with  many  incredulous 
smiles  in  San  Francisco.  My  dear  wife 
alone  believes  it.  "It  is  the  projected 
consciousness,  or  your  Astral  Body,  that 
experienced  all  this,"  she  says. 


A  SACRIFICE  TO  SCIENCE. 


i. 

[HERE  are  many  people  living  now, 
who  will  recall  with  a  shudder  the 
frightful  epidemic  which  raged  in  the  city 
of  San  Francisco  a  score  of  years  ago.  This 
epidemic  was  a  malignant  typhoid  fever, 
which  made  its  appearance  first  in  the  hos 
pital  of  the  county  jail.  More  than  fifty- 
eight  convicts  died  in  one  summer  of  that 
mysterious  disease,  which  manifested  al 
ways  the  same  symptoms  and  always  ended 
with  a  fatal  result.  The  people  in  the  city 
knew -at  first  very  little  of  this  dreadful 
calamity ;  moreover,  they  were  quite  un 
concerned  whether  more  or  fewer  convicts 
lived  or  died  behind  the  massive  walls  of 


A   SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  155 

the  county's  penal  institute.  However,  the 
newspapers  soon  spread  the  matter  abroad ; 
people  became  cognizant  of  the  danger  that 
threatened  the  community.  Thus  far,  the 
people  of  San  Francisco  had  been  merci 
fully  spared;  but  while  some  spoke  in 
whispers  about  the  epidemic  which  was 
raging  among  the  outcasts  of  society,  others 
spoke  with  pride  of  Dr.  Clinton,  the  peni 
tentiary  physician,  who  had  discovered  the 
disease,  and  was  the  first  to  give  a  minute 
description  of  it.  He  had  not  been  able  to 
cure  any  of  the  convicts,  but  his  fame  had 
reached  the  remotest  corners  of  the  civil 
ized  world. 

Dr.  Clinton  lived  in  a  gloomy  house  at 
the  outer  end  of  Broadway,  which  stood 
alone  in  a  block  of  land.  He  was  not  very 
sociable,  but  that  did  not  prevent  the 
wealthiest  people  from  calling  him  to  their 
houses. 


156  THE  FOLLOWING: 

Dr.  Clinton  was  born  in  the  city  of  New 
York,  had  graduated  from  the  medical  col 
lege  at  quite  an  early  age,  had  gone  to 
Europe,  and  after  years  and  years  of  hard 
study  at  the  great  universities,  had  at  last 
gone  with  a  scientific  expedition  to  study 
the  fever  epidemic  and  other  noxious  dis 
eases  among  the  natives  of  the  West  In 
dies,  finally  settling  in  San  Francisco. 

Some  of  the  younger  physicians  were  en 
thusiastic  about  Dr.  Clinton's  discovery 
(the  older  practitioners  were  less  demon 
strative),  and  adored  his  fine  scholarship. 
It  was  a  pity,  they  said,  that  he  was  so  ex 
clusive,  and  buried  himself  in  the  old  house 
on  Broadway,  when  society  was  eager  to 
lionize  him.  The  Doctor  paid  no  attention 
to  gossip,  either  favorable  or  otherwise. 
The  prison  and  his  gloomy  house  on  Broad 
way  were  his  world ;  he  was  satisfied. 

With  Dr.  Clinton  lived  his  sister,  Alvira, 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  157 

who  kept  house  for  him,  and  a  dismal-look 
ing  servant  by  the  name  of  Mort,  who  had 
accompanied  the  doctor  on  his  travels. 

Alvira  Clinton  was  wealthy  in  her  own 
right;  her  parents,  at  their  death,  had  left 
her  and  her  brother  enough  means  to  live 
in  luxury  all  their  lives,  but  the  Doctor's 
love  of  science  had  made  him  careless  of 
ease. 

Alvira  Clinton,  without  being  very  beau 
tiful,  lacked  by  no  means  a  certain  attract 
iveness.  She  had  big  black  eyes,  which 
were  expressive  of  intelligence;  about  her 
mouth  there  was  that  peculiar  expression 
said  to  be  expressive  of  an  indomitable  will. 
But  when  Alvira  talked  she  was  positively 
handsome.  There  was  a  bubbling  over  of 
spirit,  a  sparkling  of  wit,  that  charmed  all 
men.  She  talked  but  seldom  now;  her  de 
votion  to  h^r  brother,  her  tireless  help  in 
his  scientific  labors,  occupied  her  time.  She 


158  THE  FOLLOWING: 

did  not  care  for  society,  its  gossip  and  its 
parties,  but  was  seen  more  frequently  in 
the  houses  of  the  poor,  her  neighbors  and 
well-wishers.  She  went  to  see  them  be 
cause,  curiously  enough,  the  miserable  Mex 
icans  in  the  neighborhood  were  afraid  to 
enter  the  gloomy  house,  which  was  sur 
rounded  by  a  high  fence  and  tall  eucalyptus 
trees. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  house  was 
a  large  stable  containing  the  animals  on 
which  the  Doctor  experimented,  and  which 
Mort  called  the  "  Clinic." 

Alvira  shuddered  when  she  heard  her 
brother  give  the  details  for  the  dog  clinic; 
the  winnings  of  the  tortured  animals  filled 
her  with  unspeakable  horror.  This  annoyed 
her  brother,  and  he  made  her  enter  the 
gruesome  hospital.  He  desired  her  to  sat 
isfy  herself  that  the  animals  were  not  being 
tortured,  and  that  the  noise  came  from  the 


A   SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  159 

dogs  playing  in  the  garden.  Alvira  was 
compelled  to  acknowledge  that  the  ani 
mals  in  the  "  Clinic  "  were  quite  as  lively  as 
the'dogs  in  the  garden;  there  was  no  sign  of 
cruelty,  nor  even  harshness,  visible;  every 
thing  was  kept  scrupulously  clean,  making 
quite  a  pleasing  impression.  Of  course, 
there  were  several  of  the  sick  rabbits 
stretched  out  in  their  cages;  the  light  had 
gone  from  their  eyes,  and  they  seemed  to 
wait  for  the  end  which  was  sure  to  come. 
But  this  had  to  be;  it  was  in  perfect  har 
mony  with  a  hospital. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  now  ? "  Dr.  Clinton 
asked  his  sister. 

"  Yes,"  said  Alvira;  "  still,  I  think  I  had 
better  keep  away  from  your  clinic." 

"  Suit  yourself,"  said  he,  calmly.  It  was 
just  as  well  she  staid  away;  he  had  no  need 
of  her  there,  and  she  might  be  in  Mort's 
way.  The  latter  attended  to  all  the  business 
in  that  domain. 


160  THE  FOLLOWING: 

Mort  was  Clinton's  right-hand  man. 
He  was  absolutely  indispensable.  He  con 
trived  to  keep  the  "  Clinic  "  supplied  with 
the  animals  necessary  for  anatomical 
purposes  and  to  dispose  of  them  after  that. 
Alvira  hated  him  because  he  seemed  too 
familiar  with  her  brother.  She  shuddered 
when  he  came  near  her;  he  was  so  repul 
sive-looking.  From  the  back  of  his  head 
to  his  forehead  there  was  not  a  hair.  His 
head  looked  like  a  huge  ball  of  polished 
ivory.  He  had  neither  brows  nor  eye 
lashes,  and  his  nose  was  flattened  down  to 
a  wide  mouth  with  colorless  lips  and  im 
mense  teeth.  His  body  was  lank  and  his 
clothes  too  wide.  The  skin  of  his  face  and 
hands  looked  like  yellow  parchment  drawn 
taut.  One  invariably  imagined  that  his 
clothes  covered  a  horrible  skeleton.  And 
this  individual,  at  the  sight  of  whom  dogs 
drew  in  their  tails  and  ran  away,  had  the 
fullest  confidence  of  her  brother. 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  161 

"  No  one  outside  of  the  Doctor  and  my 
self  shall  see  what  we  are  about  in  our 
hospital,"  he  once  said  to  a  presumptuous 
reporter.  And  thus  they  lived,  secluded 
from  the  world,  with  nothing  to  disturb 
them.  The  many  famous  physicians  and 
the  lesser  lights  who  had  come  to  study 
the  peculiar  disease,  and  had  expected  to 
be  treated  hospitably  by  Dr.  Clinton,  were 
somewhat  disappointed.  Not  that  he  did 
not  treat  them  with  the  necessary  civility, 
but  while  he  took  them  to  the  prison  hos 
pital,  he  coldly  refused  to  admit  them  to 
his  private  study  or  to  Mort's  "  Clinic." 
They  should  neither  see  his  notes  nor  the 
means  he  employed  to  check  the  disease. 

His  persistent  refusal  to  show  his  private 
"  workshop  "  caused  the  learned  doctors 
to  shake  their  heads  suspiciously.  Clinton 
saw  it  and  bit  his  lips ;  but  when  they  had 
gone  his  rage  was  uncontrollable.  "The 


162  THE  FOLLOWING: 

idiots!"  he  cried,  and  ran  into  the  garden, 
racing  up  and  down.  Mort,  who  knew  the 
cause  of  the  Doctor's  rage,  roundly  abused 
the  "  Eastern  quacks."  This  invariably 
had  a  pacifying  effect  upon  the  Doctor. 
He  smiled,  and  a  defiant  look  came  into 
his  face.  Let  them  shake  their  heads. 
Mort  and  himself,  and  not  a  living  human 
soul  besides,  should  enter  his  sanctum  un 
til  the  work  is  done. 

Any  person  who  ventured  into  the  gar 
den  or  into  the  house  was  treated  most  un 
graciously  by  Mort.  "What  do  you  want? 
We  don't  receive  visitors,"  was  the  stereo 
typed  remark  with  which  he  sent  away 
men  and  women. 

However,  one  man,  George  Dalton,  was 
an  exception.  He  alone  dared  to  enter  the 
lonely  house  without  being  sent  away. 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  163 

II. 

George  Dalton  was  a  lawyer  who  had 
known  the  Clinton  family  in  New  York, 
and  had  transacted  their  business  there. 
He  had  asked  Mr.  Alfred  Clinton,  Sen., 
for  permission  to  pay  his  respects  to  the 
only  daughter,  but  was  met  with  such 
harshness  by  the  old  gentleman  that 
he  did  not  make  a  second  attempt.  Of 
course,  George  Dalton  was  an  impecunious 
young  lawyer,  but  he  was  young,  well 
educated,  of  a  jovial  disposition,  and  quite 
hopeful.  When  the  old  Mr.  Clinton  told 
Dalton  that  he  could  aspire  to  transact  the 
legal  business  of  the  family,  and  to  nothing- 
else,  George  said  nothing.  But  he  no 

*  o  o 

sooner  left  the  Clinton  mansion  than  he 
proceeded  to  the  nearest  barber,  had  his 
blonde  locks  and  beard  cut  and  shaved, 
went  home,  packed  his  portmanteau,  and 


164  THE  FOLLOWING: 

went  West.  In  less  than  five  years  George 
Dalton  had  made  a  reputation  and  a  fortune; 
but  his  early  timidity  never  left  him.  He 
recalled  the  words  of  Clinton,  Sen.,  and  he 
staid  in  the  city  of  San  Francisco. 

Ten  years  more  had  gone  by  and  one 
day  George  saw  Alvira  on  the  street.  The 
hot  wave  that  suffused  his  face  when  he 
saw  her  clearly  told  that  years  and  space 
had  no  effect  upon  his  affections.  Alvira, 
too,  was  happy  to  see  him.  She  told  him 
of  the  death  of  her  parents,  of  her  brother's 
great  learning  and  fame,  and  their  inten 
tion  to  locate  in  the  city.  They  were  in 
deed  a  handsome  pair  as  they  walked  up 
Broadway.  Dr.  Clinton  was  favorable  to 
Dalton,  as  far  as  he  was  capable  of  showing 
his  regard.  He  spoke  a  word  or  two  with 
the  friend  of  his  sister,  and  then  left  them 
alone.  Dr.  Clinton  had  no  interest  in  any 
thing  or  anybody  that  did  not  betray  the 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  165 

symptoms  of  typhoid  fever.  But  when 
George  Dal  ton  succeeded  in  getting  him 
the  position  in  the  prison  hospital,  he  con 
descended  to  express  his  appreciation,  not 
to  Dalton,  but  to  Alvira.  She  was  happy 
that  he  thought  well  of  George ;  for,  be  it 
understood,  she  loved  the  lawyer,  and  would 
have  followed  him,  were  it  not  that  she 
pitied  her  brother,  who  would  have  been 
helpless  without  her.  Nor  could  she  think 
of  leaving  him  alone  with  his  "evil  genius," 
as  she  called  Mort. 

Dr.  Clinton  was  sure  of  his  sister.  He 
knew  that  she  would  not  leave  him  for 
any  man.  He  did  not  object  to  Dalton's 
visits,  which,  however,  were  not  so  fre 
quent  as  to  cause  him  any  uneasiness. 
Every  Sunday  evening  the  gloomy  house, 
or,  to  be  more  precise,  the  family  sitting- 
room,  was  enlivened  by  George  Dalton's 
pleasant  conversation;  and  because  Alvira 


166  THE  FOLLOWING: 

seemed  to  enjoy  the  lively  chit-chat,  her 
brother  rather  encouraged  the  visitor. 
Without  it,  the  Doctor  thought  she  might 
tire  of  the  loneliness  and  gloom,  and — who 
knows?  —  might  leave  him  alone — the  very 
thought  caused  him  to  shudder  —  with  his 
factotum,  Mort.  The  latter  knew  that 
this  thought  upset  the  Doctor,  and  he  never 
failed  to  allude  to  it.  These  allusions  en 
raged  Clinton,  and  he  would  have  chastised 
his  servant  or  dismissed  him  —  if  he  could. 
But  as  he  could  not  do  either,  he  raved  in 
impotent  rage,  and  then  consoled  himself 
with  the  thought  that  Alvira  was  too  sen 
sible  to  entertain  any  such  ideas.  How 
could  she? 

One  bright,  sunny  morning,  it  was  on  a 
Sunday,  a  scene  was  enacted  in  Dr.  Clin 
ton's  garden  that  caused  Alvira  to  weep, 
the  Doctor  to  rave,  and  Mort  to  grin;  and 
when  Mort  grinned,  the  birds  in  the  trees 


A   SACRIFICE   TO    SCIENCE.  167 

ceased  their  chirping  and  flew  away;  every 
thing  seemed  to  wither  when  Mort's  eyes 
glistened  and  Mort's  mouth  grinned.  The 
scene  was  as  follows:  In  an  altana  in  the 
garden  sat  George  Dalton,  Alvira,  and 
the  Doctor.  Dalton  seemed  depressed,  - 
strange  for  a  man  of  his  temper;  the  Doctor 
was  smoking,  and  Alvira  was  speaking 
rather  hastily  and  incoherently.  At  some 
distance,  but  near  enough  for  him  to  hear, 
was  Mort  with  his  dogs.  Clinton  had  just 
thrown  away  the  stump  of  a  cigar,  and  Al 
vira,  glad  at  the  pretext,  went  into  the 
house  to  fetch  some  fresh  cigars. 

Dalton  took  advantage  of  Alvira's  ab 
sence  and  said,  "  I  might  as  well  say  it 
now  as  at  any  other  time.  Dr.  Clinton,  I 
love  Almira;  have  loved  her  for  years,  and 
have  reason  to  believe  that  she  is  not  in 
different  to  me.  In  a  word,  I  desire  to 
marry  your  sister.  She  shall  never  have 


168  THE  FOLLOWING: 

any  cause  to  regret  it.  Give  us  your  con 
sent,  Doctor." 

Dr.  Clinton  seemed  to  think  of  a  proper 
expression  to  couch  his  refusal.  Dalton's 
speech  had  evidently  displeased  him,  but 
it  did  not  come  unexpected.  He  had  grown 
tired  of  the  lawyer's  visits.  He  wanted 
absolute  seclusion.  If  the  lawyer  suffered 
a  second  rebuff,  he  was  sure  to  stay  away 
for  good.  He  stroked  his  beard,  and  a 
smile  of  satisfaction  flitted  across  his  pale 
face. 

"  You  are  speaking  of  an  impossibility, 
Dalton,"  he  said.  "  My  sister  has  con 
cluded,  once  for  all,  to  devote  her  life  to 
such  an  unworthy  old  bachelor  as  I  am." 

But  you  cannot  —  you  dare  not  —  accept 
such  a  sacrifice,  Dr.  Clinton,"  said  Dal- 
ton.  "  Alvira  is  not  the  girl  to  spend  her 
life  in  the  society  of  that  fellow  Mort  and 
his  dogs.  You  ought  to  be  more  reason 
able,  Doctor." 


A    SACRIFICE    TO   SCIENCE.  169 

Dr.  Clinton  rose  from  his  seat.  He  was 
a  shade  paler  than  usual.  His  dark  eyes 
shot  flashes  of  malignant  hatred  and  con 
tempt.  Dalton  involuntarily  stepped  back 
as  the  Doctor  hissed  the  answer  into  his 
face :  "Whether  I  have  the  right  to  accept 
the  sacrifice  of  my  sister, —  if  to  resign  the 
drudgery  of  a  commonplace  marriage  can 
be  called  a  sacrifice, — this,  I  judge,  is  no 
business  of  a  stranger." 

"But  I  am—" 

"A  stranger  for  us,"  said  the  Doctor. 
"  You  could  have  spared  yourself  this  ex 
planation  if  your  feelings  had  been  less 
youthful  than  your  age  would  lead  one  to 
believe." 

George  Dalton  was  astounded,  but  he 
gradually  gained  his  balance.  "  We  two 
are  done,  Dr.  Clinton,"  he  said.  "Miss 
Alvira  is  of  age,  and  mistress  of  her  own 
action.  I  will  ask  her  to  decide." 


170  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  There  she  is,"  said  Clinton.  "  I  will 
leave  you  two  alone,  so  that  you  do  not 
accuse  me  of  influencing  her  decision." 

When  Alvira  returned  she  was  aston 
ished  to  find  her  brother  and  Dalton  facing 
each  other  in  evident  excitement.  Clinton 
cut  the  matter  short  by  saying:  "Alvira, 
Mr.  Dalton  desires  to  speak  to  you.  I 
will,  in  the  mean  time,  look  after  Mort's 
boarders." 

Alvira  took  a  seat  and  motioned  Dalton 
to  do  likewise.  But  when  Dalton  was 
about  to  speak,  she  said,  "  Do  not  speak." 
Her  voice  was  soft  and  sad.  "  Whatever 
changes  you  desire  to  bring  about,  do  not 
count  upon  my  consent.  Years  ago,  yes ; 
but  now  it  is  different.  I  feel  it  is  my  sa 
cred  duty  to  care  for  Alfred,  who  would 
be  lost  without  me.  Besides,  I  do  not  feel 
at  all  lonely,"  she  added,  with  all  the  fem 
inine  tenderness  she  was  capable  of,  "since 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  171 

you  come  to  the  house.  Leave  matters  as 
they  are.  We  have  peace;  do  not  disturb 
the  mutual  harmony." 

"  My  dear  Alvira,  what  you  have  said," 
replied  Dalton,  "  demonstrates  to  me  one 
fact,  namely,  that  you  appreciate  my  visits, 
and  because  of  that  I  tell  you,  if  you  do 
love  me  a  little,  you  will  not  refuse  me. 
You  will  not  cast  aside  the  true  devotion 
of  a  man  tried  and  found  loyal.  I  say  again, 
Alvira,  be  my  wife." 

The  girl  looked  at  Dalton  with  eyes  that 
mirrored  the  gratitude  of  her  soul.  She 
knew  that  she  loved  him,  and  had  he  taken 
her  to  his  breast  in  youthful  passion,  she 
would  have  followed  him.  She  would  have 
forsaken  her  brother,  if  Dalton  had  kissed 
the  confession  from  her  lips.  But  as  he 
appeared  in  a  matter  of  fact  manner,  speak 
ing  friendly  and  sensibly,  it  was  her  duty 
to  be  sensible,  too,  and  this  demanded  that 


172  THE  FOLLOWING: 

she  tell  him  where  her  duty  lay,  namely, 
with  her  brother.  The  reason  why  she 
would  not  leave  him  was  that  he  was  sac 
rificing  his  health  and  his  life  to  science. 
She  said  it  with  a  sigh  that  clearly  told  of 
her  sufferings. 

"  Then  you  stay  with  him  out  of  sheer 
pity?"  Dalton  asked. 

Alvira  took  hold  of  Dalton's  hand,  and 
with  every  evidence  of  anxiety  she  said: 
"  Forgive  me,  George,  but  I  cannot  act 
otherwise.  My  brother  believes  in  my 
faithful  love  and  devotion,  and  he  shall  not 
be  disappointed.  On  the  day  that  he  needs 
my  life  it  shall  be  fettered  by  no  other 
bonds.  I  must  be  at  his  side." 

4 

Alvira  sank  back  into  her  seat  and  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  hands.  Dalton  saw 
the  tears  trickle  through  her  fingers.  His 
heart  ached  to  see  the  woman  he  loved 
suffer  so  much. 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  173 

"  Your  brother  is  ill.  He  ought  to  give 
up  his  work.  Let  him  travel, — anything 
that  will  keep  him  away  from  his  labors," 
said  he. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Alvira.  "  His 
work  will  be  his  death;  but  he  cannot  live 
without  it.  You  ought  to  have  seen  him 
when  he  discovered  the  first  case  at  the 
prison  hospital.  He  had  evidently  been 
baffled  by  something  in  his  investigations, 
and  the  epidemic  at  the  hospital  had  come 
at  the  most  opportune  moment.  He  suf 
fered,  nevertheless,  because  he  believed  him 
self  responsible  for  every  person  that  died, 
—as  if  he,  and  not  God,  had  brought  on  the 
epidemic.  The  first  evening  —  when  the 
dread  disease  made  its  appearance  —  was 
the  most  horrible.  I  shall  never  forget  it. 
He  came  into  the  house  without  saying  a 
word,  and  ran  out  into  the  garden  again, 
running  up  and  down  as  if  possessed,  tram- 


174  THE  FOLLOWING: 

pling  upon  flowers  and  the  shrubbery,  and 
laughing  loudly.  It  terrified  me,  but  I  did 
not  dare  to  speak  to  him.  He  is  quiet  now, 
and  with  nothing  to  excite  him,  we  live 
quite  happily.  And  now  I  see  the  dark 
clouds  again.  This  time,  dear  friend,  you 
are  the  disturber.  For  my  sake,  George, 
be  friends  with  Alfred,  and  when  you  come 
again  do  not  broach  that  other  subject." 

"My  dear  Miss  Alvira,  I  am  grieved  to 
tell  you  that  after  the  hard  words  that 
have  passed  between  your  brother  and  me 
it  would  be  quite  impossible  for  me  to  call 
at  his  house  again ;  but  granted  I  did  come, 
it  would  be  equally  impossible  for  me  to 
subdue  my  feelings,  now  more  than  ever, 
since  I  know  how  unhappy  you  are." 

He  rose  and  stretched  out  his  hand, 
which  she  grasped,  saying:  "I  know  that 
you  will  forever  remain  my  dearest,  my 
best,  friend,  and  because  of  that  I  ask  you 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  175 

to  promise  me  when  I  call  you  that  you 
will  come  to  me.  Promise  me,  George  !  " 
He  knew  what  she  suffered,  and  without  a 
word  he  pressed  her  hand  in  token  of  a 
promise,  and  left.  Dr.  Clinton  saw  Dalton, 
the  only  friend  of  the  family,  leave  the 
house,  but  he  seemed  to  be  engrossed  in 
some  subject  which  Mort  had  shown  him, 
and  did  not  turn. 


III. 

Added  to  gossip  that  Dalton's  with 
drawal  occasioned,  was  the  fact  that  the 
Doctor's  star  was  on  the  wane.  The  peo 
ple  became  disappointed  in  Dr.  Clinton.  It 
is  true,  he  had  made  a  great  discovery,  and 
the  medical  journals  all  over  the  world  were 
still  discussing  the  subject;  but  suffering 
and  death  are  old  evils,  and  the  discovery 
of  one  more  disease  was  interesting,  but 


176  THE  FOLLOWING: 

not  quite  agreeable  to  contemplate,  consid 
ering  that  one  might  become  a  victim  to 
the  new  discovery.  Dr.  Clinton  had  not 
found  a  remedy  against  the  epidemic,  and 
therefore  had  achieved  nothing. 

But  this  was  not  all.  He  had  managed 
to  make  more  enemies  than  any  man  in  his 
profession.  When  he  had  become  the  fash 
ion  in  the  city,  and  every  one  consulted  the 
eminent  "  fever  doctor,"  he  was  found  defi 
cient  in  that  one  quality,  —  a  sine  qua  non 
to  the  success  of  a  physician, — to  flatter  the 
rich,  to  humor  their  ills,  especially  the  fe 
male  patients,  and  be  interested  in  the  babies 
of  fond  mothers.  To  make  matters  worse, 
it  so  happened  that  he  had  some  differences 
with  one  of  the  prison  directors,  who  told 
him  that  he  (Dr.  Clinton)  was  merely  an 
official  at  the  hospital,  but  not  the  master. 
And  last,  but  not  least  for  Dr.  Clinton, 
was  the  fact  that  the  epidemic  had  disap 
peared  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come. 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  177 

People  began  to  lose  their  dread  of  the 
disease  and  their  respect  for  the  discoverer. 
Added  to  this  was  the  opinion  of  a  promi 
nent  college  professor  of  New  York,  who 
had  spent  months  in  the  city  to  investigate 
the  disease.  "  This  disease  is  not  a  new 
discovery,"  the  professor  said,  "and  it  is 
due  to  the  boundless  conceit  of  Dr.  Clinton 
that  it  was  given  so  much  prominence.  If 
Dr.  Clinton  had  discovered  a  mode  by 
which  the  organic  disease  germs  can  be 
developed  and  scientifically  explained,  if 
he  have  found  the  bacillus  and  learned  to 
conquer  its  poisonous  and  deadly  effect,  let 
him  proclaim  it,  and  the  world  would  hail 
him  a  Messiah.  If  he  had  not  done  this, 
he  had  not  merited  any  recognition,  outside 
of  the  fact  that  he  had  opened  one  more  of 
the  many  problems  which  science  is  work 
ing  hard  to  solve.  However,  the  problem 
was  not  put  by  Dr.  Clinton,  but  by  his  suf- 


178  THE  FOLLOWING: 

fering  patients.  Dr.  Clinton,"  the  professor 
concluded,  "has  done  nothing;  he  has  not 
even  attempted  to  save  the  lives  of  those 
who  fell  victims  to  the  fever." 

The  opinion  of  this  eminent  man,  being 
published,  had  the  effect  that  not  one  per 
son  could  be  found  in  the  city  of  San  Fran 
cisco  who  would  consent  -to  be  treated  by 
Dr.  Clinton.  Even  the  poorest  people  were 
afraid  to  consult  him,  and  only  those  who 
could  not  get  the  services  of  any  other  phy 
sician  free  of  charge  called  him  to  their 
bedsides. 

But  that  peculiarly  malignant  smile  never 
left  Dr.  Clinton's  lips.  In  the  fever  ward 
of  the  prison  hospital  he  was  still  master ; 
there  no  one  interfered  with  him. 

But  one  day  the  whole  matter  came  to 
a  sudden  end.  Dr.  Clinton  came  home 
and  told  Alvira  that  he  had  been  dismissed. 
Alvira  desired  to  know  what  cause  the  Di 
rectors  had  for  such  an  action. 


A   SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  179 

"  They  at  first  made  all  sorts  of  charges," 
said  Clinton.  "I  was  too  independent.  I 
told  them  I  would  consult  them  in  the  future 
on  all  matters.  Then  they  trumped  up  a 
charge  of  infidelity.  One  of  them  —  the 
fellow  is  a  deacon  in  a  church  —  objected 
to  an  atheistic  physician;  and  that  cur  pre 
tends  to  be  an  American.  I  laughed  in 
their  faces  at  first,  but  ultimately  promised 
that  for  the  sake  of  peace  I  would  go  to 
church  and  partake  of  communion,  or  that 
I  would  embrace  any  faith  they  pleased." 

"You  would  not  have  done  that,"  said 
Alvira.  "  I  don't  believe  it!  You  would 
never  have  sacrificed  your  honor ;  because 
to  dissemble  is  dishonorable." 

Clinton  looked  at  his  sister  with  a  con 
temptuous  smile  upon  his  lips. 

"  I  have  laid  so  many  sacrifices  upon  the 
altar  of  science  and  investigation,"  said  he, 
grimly,  "  that  a  lie  more  or  less  could  not 


180  THE  FOLLOWING: 

possibly  make  much  difference.  But  they 
would  not  consider  my  proposition. 

"The  next  charge  was,  that  I  was  too  ex 
travagant  at  the  cost  of  the  institution,  by 
giving  chickens  and  wine  to  the  prisoners. 
Poor  devils!  I  should  have  deprived  them 
of  the  necessary  nutriment,  while  I  am  ex 
perimenting  on  their  carcasses.  To  hamper 
my  work  on  account  of  such  trifles!  I  mas 
tered  myself,  and  promised  to  let  the  sick 
starve  as  much  as  possible.  But  it  came 
out  at  last.  They  told  rne  that  I  do  not 
prescribe  any  medicine  for  the  sick.  Not 
prescribe  enough  medicine!  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

"After  this  I  was,  of  course,  forced  to 
leave.  The  professional  honor  demanded 
that  I  should  leave !  The  professional 
honor!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Do  these  fools  think  I 
am  like  those  quacks  who  believe,  and  make 
their  patients  believe,  that  they  can  and 
will  cure  them  ?  We  are  not  here  for  the 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  181 

sake  of  hospitals,  but  hospitals  are  here  for 
our  sakes, —  for  the  sake  of  science.  But 
there  was  no  use  fighting ;  they  had  made 
up  their  minds  to  get  rid  of  me,  and  I 
went." 

His  restless  eyes  gazed  upon  the  instru 
ments  in  the  cabinet,  then  upon  the  big 
volumes  in  his  library.  There,  upon  long 
shelves,  stood  a  fine  selection  of  all  the 
classical  and  standard  medical  works  from 
Aristotle  down  to  Pasteur.  Alvira  un 
derstood  his  looks.  Among  these  princes 
of  science,  among  the  greatest  of  the  great, 
should  be  Dr.  Clinton's  work  on  the  ori 
gin  and  cause  of  fever  germs  and  their 
conquest.  Otherwise  he  had  nothing  to 
live  for.  Alvira,  with  the  instinct  of  a 
tender  woman,  found  the  right  words  to 
encourage  her  brother.  "  You  are  on  the 
road  to  fame  already ;  in  fact,  you  are 
near  the  goal,  and  in  spite  of  the  petty 


182  THE  FOLLOWING: 

jealousy  of  small  men,  you  will  yet  be 
glorious,  brother.  You  have  made  all 
the  observations  at  the  hospital  that  you 
needed,  and  as  the  epidemic  is  on  the  wane, 
it  would  be  the  proper  time  to  bring  your 
work  to  a  close."  Clinton  seemed  absent- 
minded,  but  at  Alvira's  last  words  he  shook 
his  head,  and  said,  as  if  speaking  to  him 
self:  "  But  three  months  more  and  I  would 
have  been  done.  I  could  have  offered  to 
the  world  the  very  greatest  work  of  science, 
—  a  collection  of  deadly  and  of  protecting 
bacilli." 

But  Alvira  staid  by  her  argument. 
"  Of  course,  I  am  not  competent  to  judge," 
she  said  ;  "  but  from  the  information  which 
I  gleaned  from  your  remarks  made  at  odd 
moments,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  new 
cases  of  the  dread  disease  could  hardly 
make  much  difference,  and  should  the  epi 
demic  break  out  again  at  the  hospital,  I 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE. 

am  sure  they  will  have  to  call  you.     Who 
else  could  fill  your  place  ?" 

"  The  epidemic  is  gone.  I  was  mistaken. 
It  does  not  make  its  appearance  where 
bunglers  are  at  work,"  Clinton  said  with  a 
hoarse  laugh,  while  his  right  hand  me 
chanically  played  with  his  golden  hypo 
dermic  injector.  He  then  took  up  a  book 
and  was  soon  engrossed  in  his  reading. 
His  sister  took  it  as  a  good  omen.  "  He 
may  yet  succeed,  and  be  counted  among 
the  foremost  men  of  all  times,"  she  said, 
going  to  her  own  room. 

But  Alvira's  hopes  were  not  fulfilled. 
He  grew  darker  and  moodier  every  day. 
He  lost  all  interest  in  his  dog  clinic,  and 
when  Mort  approached  to  make  some  re 
port  regarding  one  of  the  animals  he  drove 
him  away. 

"  Go  to  the  devil  with  your  dog  stories," 
Alvira  heard  her  brother  scream  at  the 


184  THE  FOLLOWING: 

top  of  his  voice.  "  I  do  not  need  dogs.  I 
need  human  beings,  and  these  were  taken 
from  rne,  —  stolen.  Not  even  a  condemned 
murderer  would  they  give  me." 

Alvira  could  not  hear  Mort's  answer, 
but  she  heard  his  tuneless  laughter  and  a 
cry  of  rage  from  her  brother,  who  threat 
ened  to  knock  him  down. 


IV. 

Not  like  a  young  physician  anxious  for 
practice,  but  like  a  panting  deer  crying  for 
water,  did  Dr.  Clinton  look  for  a  patient. 
A  patient !  —  only  one  sick  person  whom 
he  could  study ;  but  he  looked  in  vain. 
Not  a  soul  came  to  the  house.  Alvira 
went  from  room  to  room  and  sighed.  She 
never  left  the  house  now,  and  Mort,  who 
attended  to  all  affairs  on  the  outside,  came 
and  went  like  a  shadow.  No  one  in  the 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  185 

vicinity  or  in  any  part  of  the  city  thought 
of  calling  Dr.  Clinton. 

Unable  to  bear  it  any  longer,  the  Doctor 
left  the  house,  incognito,  to  find  a  patient, 
if  possible.  He  entered  the  huts  of  the 
poorest  people  and  bribed  them  with  food 
and  wine.  He  gave  the  parents  money 
and.  the  children  candy,  until  he  had  gained 
their  confidence.  Then  he  told  them  that 
he  was  a  physician,  and  when  any  one  com 
plained  he  volunteered  his  services.  His 
life  received  a  fresh  impetus;  he  was 
happy.  His  science  had  found  new  ma 
terial  for  investigation ;  Dr.  Clinton  was 
himself  once  more. 

The  best  reason  for  his  good  humor  was 
not  so  much  the  new  and  varied  practice 
which  he  had  found  as  the  fact  that  the 
fever  had  made  its  appearance  among  the 
Mexicans  in  lower  Broadway.  It  was  as 
yet  in  its  mildest  form,  but  it  was  there, 


186  THE  FOLLOWING: 

evidently  and  unmistakably.  That  no 
cases  were  reported  from  the  prison  hospi 
tal  was  probably  due  to  the  ignorance  of 
the  physicians,  Dr.  Clinton  said.  Those 
bunglers  would  not  know  the  disease  if 
they  were  laid  low  with  it  themselves. 
There  was  but  one  Dr.  Clinton  I 

As  the  months  passed,  it  was  noticed 
that  the  epidemic  had  reached  a  very  dan 
gerous  degree.  None  had  died  as  yet;  the 
Doctor's  art  had  conquered  death  thus  far, 
but  the  epidemic  raged  with  frightful  vio 
lence. 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  the  year  that 
the  poor  people  whom  Dr.  Clinton  had 
assisted  with  food,  medicine,  and  money 
grew  to  suspect  a  compact  between  Dr. 
Clinton  and  the  Devil.  This  suspicion  was 
fostered  by  the  relentless  hatred  of  an  old 
Mexican  fisherman  whom  the  Doctor  had 
had  the  misfortune  to  displease.  As  the 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  187 

old  Mexican  was  the  oracle  among  his  kind, 
his  words  carried  weight.  "  He  is  in 
league  with  the  Devil,"  he  was  heard  to 
say.  "Look  out  for  yourselves;  he  brings 
you  the  sickness."  But  there  were  some 
who  laughed  at  the  padre,  and  told  him  to 
consult  the  Doctor  for  the  affection  of  the 
eyes.  After  much  persuasion  the  old 
Mexican  so  far  mastered  his  antagonism  as 
to  send  for  Dr.  Clinton.  The  latter  per 
formed  an  operation  with  so  much  skill  and 
success  that  the  populace  danced  with  joy, 
and  told  the  old  padre  that  he  was  mis 
taken  about  the  good  Doctor.  Nothing 
could  now  have  shaken  their  faith  in  Dr. 
Clinton,  were  it  not  that  the  old  Mexican 
caught  the  fever.  In  his  delirium  he  ut 
tered  frightful  imprecations  against  the 
Doctor.  When  Clinton  made  his  visit  the 
next  morning,  he  was  met  by  a  mob,  who 
warned  him  to  keep  away  from  their  houses, 


188  THE  FOLLOWING: 

else  he  would  get  hurt.  He  tried  to  rea 
son  with  them.  He  begged  ;  he  pleaded,  — 
all  in  vain.  "  You  are  the  Devil,"  they 
said.  "  You  gave  us  food  and  money,  and 
you  bought  us  body  and  soul;  but  you 
shall  not  come  here  again.  Wherever  you 
go,  there  is  death."  And  he  was  forced 
to  retreat. 

"  The  dogs !  the  curs  ! "  he  cried,  running 
up  and  down  in  his  study.  "  They  are 
afraid  of  their  miserable  lives,  as  if  their 
lives  were  worth  anything,  if  they  did  riot 
serve  to  enrich  science.  They  want  to  live. 
Well,  let  them  live,  and  starve." 

As  it  was,  these  wretches  had  added 
their  mite  toward  assisting  his  studies. 
The  raging  fever  had  revealed  to  him  many 
new  points  of  interest.  If  he  could  have 
brought  one  of  those  cases  under  the  mi 
croscope,  and  if  he  could  also  have  suc 
ceeded  in  curing  a  most  violent  case,  his 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  189 

ambition  would  have  been  satisfied,  bis  work 
done,  and  he  would  have  laughed  at  their 
ingratitude.  He  was  so  excited  that  he 
discussed  the  subjects  of  his  research  with 
his  sister  and  Mort.  The  latter  taunted  the 
Doctor  with  cowardice,  to  retreat  before 
a  mob  of  dirty  Mexicans.  Alvira  suffered 
unspeakably.  Why  was  her  learned  brother 
so  haughty  to  everybody  and  so  submissive 
to  the  taunts  and  insults  of  his  servant  ? 
Did  Mort  know  the  modus  opemndi  of  the 
new  method?  and  did  her  brother  fear  that 
his  servant  might  reveal  it  to  one  of  the 
many  jealous  physicians,  who  would  benefit 
by  the  labors  of  her  brother?  Probably. 

A  few  days  later,  Alvira  and  her  brother 
were  walking  in  the  garden,  arm  in  arm. 
Mort  was  busy  tending  to  some  plants,  but 
his  sharp  ears  never  lost  one  word  of  the 
conversation  between  brother  and  sister. 

"  Ah !  if  I  could  only  get  to  work  again,— 


190  THE  FOLLOWING: 

to  work  among  people,  and  not  among  rab 
bits  and  dogs  in  that  clinic  over  there,"  said 
Clinton. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Alfred,"  said  Alvira, 
"  that  mankind  will  be  benefited  by  your 
discovery!" 

A  contemptuous  smile  played  about 
Mort's  lips.  Alvira  caught  that  smile,  and 
shivered. 

"Mankind  is  but  a  drop  in  the  ocean  of 
nature,"  said  Dr.  Clinton,  "  and  nature  re 
fuses  to  be  helped.  She  laughs  and  jeers 
at  us  when  we  are  presumptuous  enough  to 
attempt  to  conquer  her.  Nature  is  with 
out  consideration.  She  is  the  most  power 
ful  murderess  in  existence,  and  science,  in 
order  to  know  nature,  must  be  in  sympathy 
with  her." 

"  But  where  is  the  benefit  to  mankind  ? " 
said  Alvira,  sick  at  heart. 

"  Our   science,    my    dear    Alvira,"    said 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  191 

Clinton,  with  a  smile,  "knows  of  cases  where 
enthusiastic  pupils  took  poison  to  assist 
their  perplexed  masters  in  demonstrating 
its  effects.  You  have  heard  of  the  paint 
er's  daughter  who  permitted  herself  to  be 
crucified,  so  that  her  father  might  catch 
the  proper  expression  for  a  picture  of  the 
Saviour?  Natural  science  knows  of  such 
models  who  have  sacrificed  their  lives 
mundane  to  live  eternally  in  the  sacred 
history  of  science.  We  live  for  science, 
not  for  mankind.  Mort,"  the  Doctor  cried, 
"  what  do  you  say  to  the  idea  of  advertis 
ing,  for  such  volunteers  for  scientific  re 
search  ? " 

Clinton's  eyes  sparkled  with  a  brilliancy 
and  wildness  that  frightened  his  poor  sister. 
Mort,  however,  seemed  to  have  considered 
the  Doctor's  proposition.  "  We  might  try 
it,"  he  said.  "  But  I  don't  believe  it  would 
be  a  success.  You  cannot  rely  upon  vol- 


192  THE  FOLLOWING: 

untcers.  One  must  take  his  subjects 
wherever  he  finds  them." 

Alvira  was  horrified  to  hear  Mort  speak 
so  to  her  brother.  In  the  mouth  of  the 
latter  those  words  seemed  but  the  exas^er- 

*J  «Z7 

ation  of  an  exuberant  fancy,  but  in  the 
mouth  of  Mort  they  sounded  like  the  words 
of  a  scoundrel.  She  was  so  overcome  that 
she  could  hardly  stand.  She  ran  into  the 
house,  that  her  brother  might  not  notice 
her  weakness. 

For  days  after  this  conversation,  Alvira 
shivered  at  the  recollection,  and  remained 
in  her  room  so  as  to  avoid  meeting  her 
brother's  evil  genius. 

Dr.  Clinton's  endeavors  to  visit  the  poor 
were  met  with  determined  opposition. 
When  he  showed  himself,  a  shower  of 
stones  and  other  missiles  met  his  advance ; 
once  he  was  even  shot  at.  Had  he  incurred 
the  displeasure  of  the  Americans  in  the 


A   SACRIFICE   TO    SCIENCE.  193 

same  degree  as  that  of  the  superstitious 
Mexicans,  he  would  have  been  tarred  and 
feathered,  if  not  shot.  But  when  the 
Americans  heard  one  of  those  absurd  stories 
about  the  luckless  Dr.  Clinton,  they  merely 
laughed  at  the  horror  that  was  expressed 
in  the  faces  of  the  "  Greasers "  at  the 
mention  of  his  name.  They  had  wisely  or 
providentially  been  spared  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  Dr.  Clinton's  philan 
thropy. 

But  the  repeated  rebuffs  that  he  suffered 
from  the  Mexicans  doubled  his  energy  and 

O  v 

his  desire  for  investigation.  He  experi 
mented  on  the  animals,  and  very  soon  all 
the  dogs  and  rabbits  in  Mort's  clinic  lay 
either  sick  or  dead.  Mort  pleaded  in  vain 
against  the  total  extermination  of  his  ani 
mals;  he  refused  to  bring  new  specimens, 
in  spite  of  his  master's  commands  and 
threats.  A  gruesome  stillness  had  now 


194  THE  FOLLOWING: 

fallen  upon  the  lonely  house  and  in  the  gar 
den.  Bruno,  the  big  St.  Bernard  dog,  was 
the  sole  animal  left;  he  was  Alvira's  pet, 
and  sacred.  He  greeted  his  master  with 
mighty  jumps,  and  gave  a  joyous  howl 
whenever  his  mistress  showed  herself  in 
the  garden. 

One   brio-ht  morning,  in  the   middle  of 

O  O ' 

May,  as  Mort  entered  the  library,  he  found 
the  dog  lying  on  the  floor,  with  red  eyes, 
and  its  swollen  tongue  protruding  from  its 
mouth, —  the  dog  had  caught  the  fever. 
Mort  uttered  a  hoarse  laugh  as  he  dragged 
the  splendid  animal  into  his  "Clinic."  Al- 
vira  was  very  sad  when  she  heard  of  Bruno's 
illness,  but  she  did  not  give  up  the  hope  of 
his  recovery.  The  dog  had  been  her 
brother's  pet,  and  he  would  surely  cure 
him. 

As  often  as  Dr.  Clinton  came  from  the 
"  Clinic,"  she   asked    him   after  the   dog's 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  195 

health.  On  the  third  day  after  Bruno's  ill 
ness,  Alvira  concluded  to  see  the  poor  ani 
mal  herself,  and,  mastering  her  dislike  for 
Mort  and  his  establishment,  the  girl  crossed 
the  garden  toward  the  "Clinic."  But  she 
halted  at  the  door,  because  of  the  angry 
words  which  her  brother  spoke  to  Mort. 
The  two  were  evidently  engaged  in  a  vio 
lent  quarrel.  The  door  was  partly  open, 
and  Alvira  could  look  into  the  experi 
mental  room  without  being  seen.  Dr. 
Clinton  walked  up  and  down, -gesticulating 
wildly  and  uttering  curses  at  his  factotum, 
while  the  latter  busied  himself  with  cleans 
ing  the  microscope,  but  kept  a  vigilant  eye 
on  his  master. 

"  Yo'ur  spite  and  obstinacy  be  damned!" 
cried  the  Doctor.  "You  miserable  wretch, 
you  would  prevent  me  from  completing  my 
work  by  refusing  to  bring  me  the  necessary 
subjects,  eh?  I  have  asked  you  again  and 


196  THE  FOLLOWING: 

again  to  bring  some,  but  you  have  not 
brought  me  a  mouse,  even.  I  would  like  to 
experiment  day  and  night,  but  am  ham 
pered  by  your  obstinacy." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  Mort.  This 
laugh  caused  Alvira's  heart  to  stop.  How 
dared  the  wretch  be  so  insolent  to  her 
brother  !  She  listened  again. 

"You  are  experimenting!  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Well,  I  don't  propose  to  go  to  the  peni 
tentiary  for  stealing  dogs.  If  I  am  to 
hano1,  I  want  to  be  as  great  as  you  are, 
Doctor.  I  shall  then  have  done  my  share 
of  work  by  the  million." 

"  Shut  up  !  "  cried  Dr.  Clinton,  his  voice 
hoarse  with  passion.  ''You  miserable  cur, 
you  know  very  well  why  I  desire  to  com 
plete  my  work  just  now.  It  is  the  last 
moment.  I  am  maddened  by  the  thought 
that  while  I  am  longing  for  subjects  to 
finish  my  work  some  one  else  might  publish 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  197 

a  book  on  the  subject,  and  spoil  the  work 
of  a  lifetime." 

*'  No  one  in  America  or  Europe  can  do 
that,"  replied  Mort,  with  a  grin.  "  To  do 
what  we  have  done  one  must  have  a  steady 
hand  like  you,  and  be  without  prejudice. 
I  can  rely  upon  you  !  No  one  else  could 
possibly  accomplish  your  work.  After 
Bruno's  death  there  is  nothing  left  but  to 
experiment  on  yourself;  who  else  would  — 

"Shut  up,  or — "  Alvira  was  unable 
to  listen  any  longer ;  the  knowledge  that 
her  brother  had  sacrificed  his  pet  dog  was 
too  much  for  her.  She  understood  that 
science  could  not  have  benefited  by  Bruno's 
death ;  that  her  brother  must  certainly  have 
acted  under  mental  stress.  In  that  case, 
however,  he  was  not  bad ;  he  was  only 
unfortunate;  his  work  and  anxiety  were 
too  much ;  they  had  undermined  his  health. 
But  what  could  she  do  ?  Her  brother, 


198  THE  FOLLOWING: 

she  knew,  would  sooner  die  than  give  up 
his  work.  She  was  miserable  beyond  ex 
pression.  There  was  no  one  to  help  her ; 
she  was  alone  in  the  world,  without  a 
friend  or  relative.  But  no;  she  was  not 
without  a  friend.  There  was  her  friend 
Dalton,  of  whom  she  had  so  often  thought 
with  love  and  longing ;  she  would  call 
him.  Alvira  was  about  to  return  to  the 
house  when  the  noise  of  falling  furniture 
and  a  wild  cry  from  her  brother  attracted 
her  to  the  spot.  Suddenly  she  saw  Mort 
come  from  the  "Clinic,"  a  long  knife  in  his 
hand,  and,  walking  backwards,  followed  by 
Dr.  Clinton,  whom  he  sought  to  keep  at  a 
distance.  Alvira  being  concealed  behind 
the  door,  held  on  to  it  to  support  herself. 
The  sight  had  made  her  faint. 

"  Keep  away  from  me,  Dr.  Clinton,  or 
I  '11  run  this  knife  into  you.  Not  one  step, 
I  say.  Don't  commit  any  foolishness. 


A   SACRIFICE   TO   SCIENCE.  199 

You  could  not  kill  me  quick  enough  to 
prevent  me  from  giving  you  away.  I  tell 
you,  have  a  care  ! " 

Alvira  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Satis 
fied  that  her  brother  did  not  follow  his 
servant,  she  slipped  behind  a  bush  and 
ran  into  the  house.  Quickly  she  wrote  a 
few  lines  to  George  Dalton,  asking  him  to 
come  to  her  house,  either  that  very  evening 
or  the  following  morning.  She  was  so 
excited  and  nervous  that  she  frequently 
paused  in  writing.  The  note  being  written 
and  sealed,  she  hastened  into  the  street, 
and  luckily  finding  a  boy,  gave  him  half  a 
dollar  to  carry  the  note  to  George  Dalton's 
office. 

But  all  this  had  completely  exhausted 
her  strength.  She  barely  managed  to 
reach  the  library,  when  she  fell  upon  the 
lounge,  shaken  by  cold  and  fever.  She 
had  not  been  in  there  more  than  half  an 


200  THE  FOLLOWING: 

hour  when  the  door  was  opened  and  Dr. 
Clinton  came  in.  It  was  already  dark,  and 
he  did  not  see  his  sister.  He  ran  up  and 
down,  gesticulating  and  fighting  imaginary 
foes.  He  was  striking  at  one  of  those 
phantoms,  when  he  was  startled  by  a  sigh. 
He  was  so  scared  that  he  stood  as  if  rooted 
to  the  spot. 

"  Is  it  you,  Alvira  ? "  he  asked,  quite 
unnerved.  But  being  answered  by  another 
sigh,  he  lighted  a  candle  and  stepped  up  to 
the  lounge. 

"For  God's  sake!  you  have  the  fever," 
he  cried,  in  terrible  excitement.  But  he 
soon  mastered  himself.  Covering  her  with 
a  heavy  blanket,  he  hastened  into  the 
kitchen  and  made  her  a  hot  drink.  When 
Alvira's  fever  had  quieted  down,  he  sat  by 
her  side,  her  hand  in  his.  Once  in  a  while 
his  eyes  became  restless,  and  his  hand 
moved  toward  the  vest  pocket  where  his 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  201 

"injector"  was.     Alvira,   who  felt   much 
better,  smiled  at  her  brother  gratefully. 

"  You  have  the  fever,"  said  her  brother. 

"  Whose  fever,  —  yours  ? "  Alvira  asked, 
frightened. 

Dr.  Clinton  made  no  answer,  but  he 
gazed  at  her  absently. 

"  This  would  be  a  fine  affair  for  you  and 
science  if  you  were  to  find  the  very  case 
you  were  after  in  your  own  house.  You 
could  be  proud  of  your  sister,  Alfred." 

Clinton  stared  at  her  with  eyes  wide 
open.  "Is  it  possible,  Alvira,  that  your 
thoughts  could  take  such  sublime  flights? 
You,  of  all  people,  could  comprehend  me 
and  my  work  ?  Alvira,  I  am  your  brother ! 
Do  you  suppose  I  would  sacrifice  my  own 
sister  1 " 

"  Keep  quiet,  dear,"  said  Alvira,  "I  shall 
be  all  right  to-morrow  morning.  Keep 
quiet,  that  you  don't  get  sick  yourself.  I 
have  not  your  fever,  have  I  ?" 


202  THE  FOLLOWING: 

Dr.  Clinton  had  the  thumb  and  index 
of  his  right  hand  in  his  vest  pocket,  where 
he  toyed  with  his  instrument,  as  was  his 
habit. 

"  This  would  have  been  one  of  those 
tragic  conflicts,"  said  Dr.  Clinton,  still  toy 
ing  with  his  hypodermic  needle,  "  if  a  lov 
ing  brother  could  reach  the  highest  aim  of 
his  life  by  the  death  of  his  own  sister. 
Don't  be  frightened,  Alvira ;  it  is  but  one 
of  those  crazy  questions  which  doctors  are 
apt  to  ask.  But  why  should  it  not  be  real 
ity  ?  Why  should  a  girl  not  be  permitted 
to  sacrifice  her  life  in  the  same  manner  as 
we  ?  We  sacrifice  our  life  to  science,  and 
with  our  lives  our  pleasures,  our  youth,  and 
all  our  desires.  Every  drop  of  blood,  every 
fiber  of  our  brain,  labors  for  science,  and 
thus  our  whole  life  is  one  chain  of  denials, 
abnegations,  and  sacrifices.  Why  should 
not  a  girl  take  that  one  brave  step  for  the 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  203 

sake  of  science,  which  alone  would  place 
her  en  a  level  with  the  greatest  of  men1?" 

"You  look  quite  tired,  dear,"  said  Alvira. 
"  Follow  my  advice,  and  take  a  dose  of  mor 
phine  and  go  to  bed.  I  feel  sick.  I  would 
like  to  sleep  a  little,  if  possible." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Clinton,  gathering 
his  energy.  "  A  morphine  injection  will 
do  me  good,  and,  come  to  think  of  it,  you, 
too,  would  sleep  better  if  you  had  one.  You 
would,  in  fact,  not  be  able  to  sleep  at  all 
without  it,"  and  drawing  himself  up  to  his 
full  height,  he  continued,  resolutely,  "  I 
will  fetch  the  necessary  articles  from  my 
room." 

He  left  the  room  with  a  heavy  tread. 

V. 

"  Did  you  hear  the  latest?"  said  a  phy 
sician  to  George  Dalton  as  the  two  were 
walking  towards  the  latter's  office. 


204  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  No,"  said  Dalton ;  "  what  is  it  ?  " 

The  physician  handed  Dalton  a  medical 
journal,  which  contained  a  full  description 
of  the  peculiar  disease  discovered  by  Dr. 
Clinton.  The  writer  stated  that  he  had 
succeeded  in  discovering  the  germ  as  en 
tirely  independent  of  the  person  ill  with  the 
fever.  He  had  brought  this  independent 
fever  germ  to  its  highest  strength  in  viru 
lence,  and  then  weakened  it  so  that  it  be 
came  absolutely  harmless.  All  this  he  had 
tested  by  experiment  on  animals,  and  dem 
onstrated  publicly,  and  while  Dr.  Clinton 
had  certainly  given  an  impetus  to  investiga 
tion,  he  had  achieved  nothing  new. 

"  This  will  bring  Dr.  Clinton  down  a  peg 
or  two,"  said  the  disciple  of  Esculapius,  not 
without  malice. 

Dal  ton's  heart  was  heavy  as  he  stepped 
into  his  private  office,  and  he  experienced 
something  of  a  shock  when  his  office-boy 


A   SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  205 

handed  him  Alvira's  note.  He  lost  no 
time,  but  hastened  to  the  call  of  the  woman 
he  had  loved  these  many  years. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come,"  said  Al- 
vira,  after  telling  him  of  all  that  had  trans 
pired  within  the  last  few  hours. 

"And  where  is  your  brother  now?" 
Dalton  inquired. 

"He  has  just  gone  down  to  get  me  a 
morphine  injection.  I  think  he  is  right.  I 
shall  not  be -able  to  sleep  without  it." 

"And  did  he  give  you  nothing  else 
against  the  fever  ?  Did  he  give  you  any 
medicine  ?  "  asked  Dalton. 

"  No ;  he  don't  believe  much  in  medi 
cines,"  said  Alvira.  "  I  will  be  all  right 
soon.  Are  you  going  to  leave  me  now?" 
she  asked,  seeing  Dalton  rise. 

"I  am  going  to  see  your  brother,"  the 
latter  replied,  resolutely. 

"That  is  right,"  said  Alvira.     "But  be 


206  THE  FOLLOWING: 

patient  with  him,  for  my  sake,  and,  above 
all  things,  try  and  excuse  your  presence  in 
the  house." 

Dalton  left  the  room.  He  stepped  down 
hastily,  and  as  he  turned  to  the  Doctor's 
room  he  noticed  the  light  coming  through 
the  open  door.  Dalton  halted  and  looked 
into  the  room.  At  the  table  sat  Dr.  Clin 
ton,  staring  into  the  light.  Before  him  lay 
an  open  book  in  which  he  had  evidently 
been  writing ;  his  right  hand  held  a  pen, 
and  his  left  toyed  witli  the  golden  injector. 
Dalton  entered,  and  as  Dr.  Clinton  recog 
nized  his  visitor,  he  jumped  from  his  chair 
and  said :  "  My  sister  has  a  slight  attack  of 
fever.  I  was  afraid  she  might  grow  worse, 
and  concluded  to  give  her  an  injection  of 
morphine,  which  I  had  just  now  chemically 
tested.  Remedies  like  those  require  the 
greatest  care." 

He  had  evidently  forgotten  how  he  had 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  207 

dismissed  his  sister's  suitor.  Clinton's 
words,  at  first  full  of  embarrassment,  grew 

'  7    O 

rather  mocking  in  tone  at  the  end.  Dalton 
lost  all  control  of  himself.  His  eyes  invok 
untarily  fell  upon  the  book,  and  there,  in 
the  Doctor's  large,  bold  handwriting,  stood 
the  date  of  the  day,  the  month,  and  the  year, 
and  beneath  it,  in  red  ink,  the  words  8:30 
P.  M.,  last  trial  Clinton  turned  toward  the 
door,  and  was  about  to  leave,  but  Dalton 
barred  his  way. 

"  Can  you  give  me  your  word  of  honor, 
Dr.  Clinton,  that  this  injection  will  do  your 
sister  no  harm  ? " 

Dalton  said  this  in  a  hoarse  voice.  Clin 
ton  was  stunned  at  Dal  ton's  words,  but  he 
soon  regained  his  composure  and  his  mock 
ing  tone:  "  This  remedy  is  reliable,  I  as 
sure  you." 

But,  suddenly  changing  his  tone,  he  said : 
"May  I  ask  the  reason  of  your  visit  at  such 


208  THE  FOLLOWING: 

a  late  hour,  Mr.  Dalton  ?  I  had  an  idea 
that  we  had  done  with  each  other  for  life." 

Dalton  kept  an  eye  on  Clinton.  Taking 
the  medical  journal  containing  the  article 
against  the  "  Fever"  from  his  pocket,  Dal 
ton  spoke  in  measured  tones :  "  In  this 
journal,  Dr.  Clinton,  you  will  find  an  article 
which  is  of  the  greatest  importance  to  you, 
as  it  affects  your  lifelong  labors.  Read  it." 

Under  the  pressure  of  Dalton's  gaze, 
Clinton  looked  at  the  journal.  He  had 
hardly  read  the  heading  of  the  article  when 
he  turned  deathly  pale.  The  hand  that 
held  the  hypodermic  syringe  trembled,  and, 
totally  unnerved,  he  sank  into  a  chair. 
Clinton  read  the  article,  and  after  he  had 
finished,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  like  one 
who  has  received  a  death-blow.  He  looked 
at  Dalton  as  if  he  desired  to  read  the  lat- 
ter's  thoughts.  Dalton  could  barely  stand 
this  look,  for  he  felt  as  if  he  had  spoken  Dr. 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  209 

Clinton's  death-sentence.  Suddenly  Clin 
ton  rose  from  his  seat,  stepped  to  the  other 
side  of  the  big  table,  so  that  the  table  was 
between  him  and  Dalton.  His  eyes  shone 
with  radiance  that  beautified  his  face. 

"  You  have  asked  me  a  while  ago  whether 
T  would  pledge  my  honor  upon  the  reliabil 
ity  of  this  remedy.  I  will  pledge  rnylife." 
Dr.  Clinton  had  taken  hold  of  the  loose  skin 
on  his  neck,  and  before  Dalton  could  move, 
injected  the  contents  of  the  syringe.  At 
first  Dalton  was  paralyzed,  but  he  soon  ran 
up  to  Dr.  Clinton  and  tore  the  injector  from 
the  latter's  hand.  It  was  too  late.  Clinton 
tried  to  make  light  of  the  matter,  saying 
that  he  only  meant  to  scare  Dalton ;  but 
when  he  saw  the  latter's  despair,  his  bra 
vado  gave  way  to  a  like  feeling.  With  a  cry 
of  horror  he  threw  himself  on  Dalton's 
breast  and  said  :  "  For  God's  sake,  George, 
save  Alvira.  I  am  lost,  but  you  will  spare 
me  for  her  sake." 


210  THE    FOLLOWING: 

"  I  will,"  said  Dalton ;  "and  now  lie  down 
and  rest.  I  think  you  will  need  to.  I  will 
look  after  Alvira." 

Slowly  Dalton  went  upstairs  again,  so  as 
to  collect  himself,  and  not  to  frighten  Al- 

'  O 

vira  by  his  looks.  He  told  the  girl  not  to 
despair  about  her  brother;  that  he  was  all 
right,  and  except  the  interruption  caused 
by  some  physical  disarrangement,  will 
continue  his  work.  However,  he  thought 

7  O 

it  advisable  that  Alvira  should  look  after 
her  brother  once  in  a  while,  and  for  that 
purpose  she  must  try  to  get  well  soon.  He 
also  said  that  he  had  made  up  with  her 
brother,  and  that  he  would  now  call  more 
frequently,  after  which  he  left  her  in  a 
blissful  deception,  but  himself  heartsore 
and  troubled. 

Two  days  passed.  Dalton  came  twice  a 
day,  and  Alvira's  reports  were  quite  en 
couraging.  "  Her  brother  felt  tired,"  she 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  211 

said.  "  He  writes  everything  in  his  book 
of  scientific  notes,  —  his  pulse,  his  tem 
perature.  To  me  he  is  quite  tender,  and 
he  is  full  of  praise  about  your  manliness 
and  worth";  and  the  girl  smiled  as  a  wo 
man  only  can  smile  when  proud  of  the  man 
she  loves. 

On  the  third  day  a  frightful  fever  at 
tacked  Dr.  Clinton.  His  sister  watched 
by  his  side  during  the  day,  and  at  night 
Dalton  changed  with  Mort.  Upon  a  little 
table  near  the  bed  was  the  day -journal  in 
which  Clinton  wrote  notes  as  often  as  he 
was  clear-headed.  During  the  day,  while 
his  sister  was  by  his  side,  he  seldom  uttered 
a  word;  his  power  of  will  seemed  strong 
enough,  even  in  the  heat  of  fever.  He 
would  not  shock  the  poor  girl.  But  it  was 
different  before  the  men.  Now  he  seemed 
to  be  among  the  Mexicans,  whom  he  gave 
snakes.  "  They  are  good;  they  don't  bite; 


212  THE  FOLLOWING: 

eat  them,  eat  them!"  he  cried.  Then, 
again,  he  seemed  to  be  in  the  West  Indies, 
where  he  and  Mort  were  hunting  patients. 
But  he  could  not  find  them;  and  if  he  did 
not  find  them  within  a  specified  time,  he 
would  be  hanged.  The  library  seemed 
full  of  laughing  and  grinning  doctors,  howl 
ing  dogs,  and  gnawing  rats.  He  was  look 
ing  for  his  great  book  upon  the  "  Fever 
Bacillus,"  which  he  could  not  find.  Some 
one  of  the  grinning  doctors  had  stolen  it, 
trying  to  rob  him  of  his  fame. 

When  Dalton  heard  these  ravings,  he 
shuddered  and  disliked  to  stay.  But  when 
Mort  came  into  the  room,  and  Dalton  saw 
that  moving  skeleton  grin  and  leer  at  the 
poor  Doctor,  he  was  loath  to  leave  him 
alone  with  that  abominable  wretch. 

Five  days  had  gone  by.  Clinton  was 
still  raving.  Dalton  sat  by  his  side,  con 
templating  the  sad  end  of  a  brilliant 


A    SACRIFICE    TO    SCIENCE.  213 

career,  when  Clinton  suddenly  sat  up  in 
his  bed.  "  George,  promise  me,"  he  said, 
and  his  words  came  hard  and  slow.  "  It 
will  be  too  late  to-morrow.  Send  this 
book  to  the  fellow  who  wrote  that  article. 
Let  him  use  it." 

"  If  this  book  is  so  valuable,  why  not 
publish  it  for  Alvira's  benefit?"  asked  Dai- 
ton. 

"No,  no!"  cried  Clinton.  "I  have 
worked  for  science  only.  Everything  for 
science;  for  humanity,  nothing.  If  you 
don't  send  it,  destroy  it.  Another  thing, 
George:  in  Mort's  'Clinic'  over  there, — 
in  the  glass  tubes, —  all  the  diseases  in  the 
world  are  in  those  tubes.  There  are  the 
'Fever  Bacilli.'  I  want  rest  in  the  grave. 
They  will  come  from  those  tubes  and  de 
stroy  mankind  to  the  last.  Swear,  Dalton, 
that  you  will  destroy  them  — 

"  How  are  the  poisons  to  be  destroyed? " 
Dalton  faltered. 


214  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"By  fire,  by  fire,  by  fire!"  screamed 
Clinton.  "  Otherwise  that  fellow  Mort  is 
sure  to  come  and  carry  the  diseases  and 
death  among  the  people.  He  was  always 
so  hard  against  niy  dog  Bruno,  —  I  have  no 
time  now.  I  am  looking  for  fresh  subjects. 
I  want  to  make  my  last  injection.  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !  I  am  the  creator  of  the  fever  I  The 
fools  did  not  know  it,  —  one  more ";  and 
Clinton  became  again  delirious. 

About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  Mort 

o 

entered  and  desired  to  take  Dal  ton's  place, 
but  the  latter  remained  until  daybreak. 
When  he  left  he  heard  Clinton  cry,  "Burn 
them,  Dalton,  and  Mort,  too." 

Dalton  was  gone  about  two  hours,  and 
was  about  to  lie  down  to  rest  for  a  little 
while  when  the  fire  alarm  was  sounded. 
Looking  out  of  the  window,  he  saw  the 
flames  rising  from  the  direction  of  Dr. 
Clinton's  house.  He  dressed  hastily  and 


A    SACRIFICE    ^O    SCIENCE.  215 

went  thither.  Dalton  found  Alvira  wring 
ing  her  hands  in  front  of  Mort's  "  Clinic," 
which  was  being  consumed  in  spite  of  all 
efforts  of  the  firemen.  The  house,  beino- 

7  O 

quite  a  distance  from  the  "  Clinic,"  was 
not  in  danger. 

"  Where  is  your  brother  ? "  cried  Dalton. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  weeping 
girl.  "  I  went  to  his  room  some  time  ago 
and  found  him  and  Mort  gone." 

In  the  afternoon  the  firemen  found  the 
charred  remains  of  two  bodies  lying  upon 
the  stone  floor  of  the  "Clinic." 

Dalton  examined  them  and  identified  his 
poor  friend  Dr.  Clinton,  as  well  as  his  evil 
genius,  Mort.  In  the  breast  of  the  latter 
was  found  a  long  Persian  dagger. 


THE  FOREIGN  ELEMENT. 


i. 

WAY  out  in  that  part  of  the  Mis 
sion,  in  San  Francisco,  known  as  the 
"Warm  Belt"  lives  a  little  Irishman  who 
goes  by  the  name  of  the  "Patriarch,"  al 
though  his  right  name  is  Patrick  O'Hara. 
There  is  certainly  nothing  patriarchal, 
pious,  or  heaven-striving  about  the  man's 
features  or  appearance,  unless  it  be  the 
point  of  his  nose,  which  has  a  decided  up 
ward  tilt;  otherwise  one  is  not  reminded 
of  O'Hara's  devotional  proclivities.  He 
swears  sometimes,  but  as  his  imprecations 
are  usually  directed  against  the  "Oppres 
sor"  one  does  not  take  it  to  heart. 

O'Hara  is  rich.     He  owns  considerable 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  217 

property  in  the  Mission,  and  he  does  not 
work.  But  this  is  not  the  reason  why  they 
style  him  the  "  Patriarch." 

"  You  see  that  little  man  there,"  said  the 
clerk  at  the  corner  grocery;  "that's  him." 

"Who?"  I  queried. 

"  The  fellow  we  was  talking  about,  —  the 
Patriarch,"  he  replied. 

"But  why  is  he  called  the  Patriarch?" 
I  asked. 

"  Because  he  has  twelve  sons  and  four 
daughters,"  replied  the  clerk. 

•'  Twelve  sons  and  four  daughters !  "  I 
cried.  The  clerk  must  have  thought  me 
crazy,  as  I  ran  out  of  the  grocery  and  raced 
after  Pat  O'Hara.  I  wanted  to  shake 
hands  with  the  man  who  could  boast  the 
progeny  of  twelve  solid  Democratic  citizens, 
adding  four  votes  when  Lizzie,  Maggie, 
Mary  Ann,  and  Katie  should  have  found 
their  masculine  equals  among  the  aris 
tocratic  families  of  the  "  Warm  Belt." 


218  THE    FOLLOWING: 

Having  caught  up  with  Mr.  O'Hara,  I 
asked  the  privilege  of  shaking  him  by  the 
hand. 

"Faith,  if  that'll  do  yez  any  good,  ye 
are  welcome,"  he  said,  wtth  a  grin. 

I  assured  him  that  it  would  make  mo 
quite  happy. 

"  Then  do  it  agin,"  said  he,  and  he  held 
forth  his  big,  horny  hand. 

"  Ph. fat  may  be  yer  business  ? "  he 
queried. 

"  I  am  a  reporter,"  I  replied. 

"I  hope  ye  dun't  wroite  for  any  of  thim 
Republican  papers,"  he  said,  and  gazed  at 
his  hand,  evidently  regretting  that  he  had 
shaken  hands  too  hastily. 

I  assured  him  that  I  was  a  stanch 
Democrat,  and  would  not  bemean  my  soli' 
by  writing  for  a  Republican  journal. 

"  Then  shake,"  said  Pat,  quite  happy. 
"  Ye  are  the  man  I  loike." 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  219 

As  he  spoke,  I  had  a  chance  to  take  a 
mental  photograph  of  the  man  who  lived 
up  to  his  principles,  even  to  the  shaking  of 
hands. 

His  eyes — blue  in  color  and  small  in 
circumference — had  the  merriest  twinkle 
imaginable.  There  seemed  an  eternal  grin 
about  his  mouth,  but  I  was  inclined  to 
think  —  after  close  inspection  —  that  the 
grin  was  due  to  the  natural  cut  of  his 
mouth,  the  sides  of  which  terminated  in 
the  back.  He  had  teeth,  too,  but  the  lips 
seemed  ashamed  of  them,  for  they  made 
ineffectual  efforts  to  cover  them.  Between 
the  teeth  a  clay  pipe  had  taken  permanent 
lodgings,  never  leaving,  rain  or  shine.  As 
for  Mr.  O'Hara's  hair  and  chin  whiskers, 
they  were,  as  usual,  of  the  flaming  color. 

"  So  you  are  the  father  of  sixteen  chil 
dren,  Mr.  O'Hara,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  sure,  I  have  the  foinest  b'ys  in  the 


220  THE    FOLLOWING: 

country,  sur,  an'  foiner  guvls  ye  can't  find 
in  the  wurld,"  he  said,  with  all  the  pride 
he  could  possibly  put  into  his  words. 

"  How  old  is  your  oldest  child,  Mr. 
O'Hara  ? " 

"  Me  oldest  son  will  be  tirty-tree  next 
Christmas,  sur." 

"And  your  youngest?" 

"Is  here, —  right  here,  sur.  An'  as  foin 
a  gurl  as  iver  ye  laid  eyes  on.  Kathy,  dar- 
lint,  come  here;  come  here  an'  shake  hands 
with  the  gintleman." 

Kathy  came  and  shook  hands.  Her 
hands  were  rather  dirty,  but  her  sweet  face 
and  rich  carnation  atoned  for  the  insuffi 
cient  use  of  soap  and  water.  Kathy  was 
about  si::  years  of  age.  Moggie,  the  old 
est,  was  about  twenty;  then  came  Lizzie, 
eighteen,  and  Mary  Ann,  sixteen  years  of 
age. 

Lizzie  was  certainly  the  handsomest  of 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  221 

all  the  girls.  She  was,  in  fact,  very  beau 
tiful. 

"  It  costs  something  to  bring  up  a  family 
like  yours,  Mr.  O'Hara  ?"  said  I. 

"Yes,  sur;  it  does  cost  a  little  some 
thing,"  he  replied,  sucking  at  his  clay  pipe. 
"But  there's  enough  for  all,  an'  some  to 
spare.  Me  childhreo  can  hav'  anything 
they  want.  All  I  ask  in  return  is  for 
thim  to  kape  clane  the  reckord.  They 
must  marry  none  but  Irish  gurls,  an'  me 
gurls  shall  marry  Irish  b'ys." 

Interesting  as  the  study  of  this  phase 
of  the  Irish  character  would  have  been,  I 
forebore  the  pleasure,  bade  Mr.  O'Hara  a 
"good  day,"  and  left. 


II. 

Several  weeks  later,  I  again  happened  to 
meet  Mr.  O'Hara.     His  nose  was  still  in 


222  THE  FOLLOWING: 

the  same  position  ;  his  eyes  were  blue,  but 
they  had  lost  the  merry  twinkle;  the 
upper  lip  was  drawn  tightly  over  his  upper 
teeth,  in  a  vain  endeavor  to  meet  the  lower 
lip.  The  latter  hung  dywn  listless,  and  in 
the  corners  there  was  a  glimmer  of  white 
foam.  Patrick  O'Hara  was  evidently  a 
broken-down  and  unhappy  man.  Touched 
by  a  humane  impulse,  I  walked  up  to  him 
and,  taking  him  by  the  hand,  said:  — 

"  What  seems  to  be  the  matter,  Mr. 
O'Hara  1" 

His  lower  lip  trembled  as  he  recognized 
me. 

"  Iverything  is  the  matter,"  he  breathed. 

I  took  a  seat  by  his  side. 

"  It  is  the  'grippe/  Mr.  O'Hara,"  I  said. 
"  You  will  be  all  right  soon.  Brace  up.  A 
man  who  has  twelve  brave  boys  and  four 
handsome  girls  has  cause  to  be  happy." 

"  There   is   no   happy  days  fur  me  any 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  223 

mohre,"  he  said.  There  was  a  deep  note 
of  sadness  and  melancholy  in  his  voice.  "  I 
hav'  no  luck,  sur.  Me  ouldest  b'y  mar 
ried  an  English  gurl,  and  me  second  ran 
away  with  a  Dutch  bar- maid.  The  foreign 
iliment,  sur,  is  what  kills  this  grate  coun 
try,  an'  it  is  the  foreign  iliment  that  kills 
the  family.  I  have  no  luck,  sur." 

At  this  juncture  little  Kathy  came 
racing  through  the  yard,  and  cried:  "  Pop, 
I  have  a  nickel  and  a  box  of  candy." 

She  handed  the  box  of  candy  to  her 
father,  who  gazed  into  it  sadly,  extracted 
a  piece  and  slipped  it  into  his  capacious, 
mouth,  and  then  offered  me  the  box.  I 
refused,  with  thanks,  but  asked  Kathy  who 
had  given  her  the  candy. 

"  Mr.  Isaak,"  she  said. 

"  Do  you  like  Mr.  Isaak  ?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  she  replied. 

"  And  would  you  like  me  if  I  gave  you 
candy  and  a  nickel  ? "  I  queried, 


224  TUP:  FOLLOWING: 

She  thought  a  while;  then  she  said, 
"No;  you  ain't  Lizzie's  beau,  and  Mr. 
Isaak  is." 

If  a  cannon  had  been  discharged  full  at 
the  breast  of  Mr.  O'Hara,  the  effect  could 
not  have  been  more  terrific.  His  eyes 
shot  sparks,  the  foam  in  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  spread  and  filled  the  aperture  with 
a  film  thereof. 

u  Kathy,  darlint,  come  here,  acushla," 
he  cried.  "  What  did  you  say  was  the 
name  of  the  chap  who  is  Lizzie's  beau1?" 

"  His  name  is  Mr.  Isaak.  The  boys  call 
him  '  Sheeny  Jake/  "  she  said,  munching 
her  candy,  unconscious  of  the  agony  she 
was  causing  her  father.  The  blow  was  too 
hard  for  him  of  the  O'Hara  race.  He  took 
his  head  between  his  hands,  bent  it  between 
his  knees,  and  set  up  a  moaning  that  would 
have  turned  Lizzie's  callous  heart,  had  she 
heard  it. 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  225 

As  it  was,  her  father  uttered  groan  after 
groan,  such  as  come  from  the  breast  of  a 
true  Irishman  in  despair,  while  the  way 
ward  Lizzie  was  cooing  in  the  arms  of  her 
Hebrew  lover,  whose  father  sold  notions, 
and  he  himself  earned  the  princely  salary 
of  forty  dollars  per  month  in  one  of  the 
great  bazars  of  San  Francisco. 

I  tried  to  console  poor  O'Hara.  "  He 
may  be  a  good  young  man.  The  Jews 
have  a  reputation  of  treating  their  wives 
much  better  than  Christians.  He  may 
make  Lizzie  quite  happy,  and  it  ought  to 
be  your  pride  to  see  your  children  happy." 

"  Och,  Mr.  Martin,  ye  are  not  married. 
Ye  didn't  have  the  trouble  av  bringing  up 
sixteen  childhren.  Am  I  to  slave  for  me 
childhren's  happiness,  an'  as  soon  as  they 
grow  up,  fur  thim  to  make  me  unhappy  ? 
Oi  say,  no,  sur !  An'  suppos'  he  meks  her  a 
good  husband,  will  that  take  off  the  disgrace 


226  THE  FOLLOWING: 

of  the  foreign  iliment?  Oi  say  agin,  no, 
sur!  To  have  the  oppressor's  daughther 
in  me  family,  and  a  Dutch  bar-maid,  is  bad 
enough,  but  a  Jew! — I'll  niver  live  to  see 
the  day.  No,  I  won't.  If  me  childhren 
are  bent  on  disgracing  me  name,  let  thim 
do  it  when  I  ain't  about." 

It  seems,  however,  that  Patrick  O'Hara 
did  not  commit  suicide  that  day.  Mrs. 
O'Hara  gave  Lizzie  a  good  talking,  and  she 
promised  that  she  would  not  disgrace  the 
family.  When  he  heard  his  daughter's 
promise,  it  pleased  him  mightily. 

"Yez  are  an  honest  man's  honorable 
daughter.  Yer  father  is  a  man  av  sub 
stance;  ye  can  have  whativer  you  like,  an' 
why  should  yez  hang  yerself  on  the  neck 
av  an  old  good-for-nothin'  Jew, — an  idler 
who  would  kape  ye  in  want  the  rist  av  yer 
naturral  loife." 

"  Jake —  I  mean  Mr.  Isaak  —  is  no  idler, 


'THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  227 

papa,"  said  Lizzie.  "  He  works  and  makes 
his  own  living;  although  his  people  are 
quite  wealthy,  he  never  asks  anything  of 
them.  He  stands  on  his  own  legs." 

"An'  how  do  ye  know  all  this,  Liz?" 
asked  O'Hara. 

She  turned  crimson.  "  I  heard  it,"  she. 
said,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room. 

"Lizzie!"  cried  her  father. 

Lizzie  halted. 

"  What  do  you  want,  pa  ?  " 

"  Come  here." 

She  obeyed. 

"  Lizzie,  I  want  ye  to  promise  me  not  to 
talk  to  that  Jew  Isaak.  Not  that  I  dis 
trust  me  own  daughther,  but  that  Jew  will 
mislead  you;  and  if  ye  iver  disgrace  me,  I 
shall  cut  you  off  from  the  family.  Now, 
you  will  have  to  choose  between  your  fam 
ily  and  that  Jew  Isaak." 

"Papa,  do  you  doubt  me  ?"  cried  Lizzie. 


228  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  Well,  I  am  bound  to.  Ye  was  seen 
with  him ;  yer  little  sister  called  him  yer 
beau.  Now,  while  it  ain't  any  crime  to 
speak  to  any  gintleman  on  the  street,  it  is 
certainly  a  different  affair  when  it  comes  to 
marriage.  Marry  the  poorest  lad  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  be  sure  ver  father  will 

V 

stand  by  ye;  but  for  God's  sake  don't 
bring  me  any  foreign  iliment." 

"  I  won't,  pa,"  said  Lizzie. 

"  Swear  by  the  Holy  Virgin,  then,  gurl," 
cried  O'Hara. 

Poor  Lizzie  trembled,  as  she  placed  her 
hand  upon  the  bisque  statue  of  the  Virgin, 
and  hot  tears  fell  from  her  lids. 

"I  swear!"  she  breathed,  and  fell  into 
her  mother's  arms,  weeping. 

Shortly  after  this  dramatic  scene,  an 
other  —  one  of  joyous  moment  —  took 
place  in  the  O'Hara  residence.  Maggie 
married  Tim  Ryan,  the  man  who  kept 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  229 

a  saloon,  was  a  sport,  and  had  the  full 
favor  of  Patrick  O'Hara,  inasmuch  as  he, 
too,  hated  the  "  foreign  iliment." 

The  acquisition  of  a  thoroughbred  son 
of  Erin  caused  Patrick  O'Hara  to  for 
get  all  his  former  troubles. 

"Mr.  Martin,  sur,  a  sight  loike  that"- 
pointing  to  his  son-in-law  and  Maggie  — 
"  is  enough  to  drown   all  trouble,  even  if 

O  ' 

there  was  no  champagne.  Drink,  sur.  I 
invited  yez  to  see  me  joy,  because  ye  saw 
also  me  sorrow.  Drink,  sur,  an'  may  God 
blesh  ye." 

III. 

Tim  Ryan  became  a  great  factor  in  the 
O'Hara  establishment.  Being  shrewd,  he 
soon  found  out  the  peculiar  weakness  of 
his  father-in-law,  taking  good  care  to 
keep  his  standing.  Patrick  O'Hara  em 
braced  Tim,  as  the  latter  told  him  that 


200  THE    FOLLOWING! 

"Sheeny  Jake"  had  tried  to  speak  to 
Lizzie,  but  that  lie  (Tim)  had  threatened 
to  thrash  the  Jew  if  he  ever  dared  to  in 
sult  his  sister-in-law. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  however,  Tim  had 
not  spoken  to  Lizzie's  sweetheart,  although 
he  had  seen  the  two  in  close  conversation 
near  the  Cogswell  Institute. 

One  bright  sunny  morning  as  I  was  sit 
ting  on  a  bench  in  a  shrubbery  in  the  park, 
I  heard  a  sob,  and  a  masculine  voice  say: 
"Don't  cry,  Lizzie.  I  have  the  same  diffi 
culty  at  home.  My  father  lectures  me 
continually  about  not  marrying  out  of  the 
faith.  He  hates  mixed  marriages,  and 
would  not  hear  of  \t,  unless,  indeed,  dar 
ling, —  you  would  consent  to  embrace  the 
Jewish  faitli.  You  know  how  my  dear 
mother  would  love  you.  They  would  carry 
you  on  their  hands,  and  my  old  dad — well, 
there  isn't  a  better  chap  living,  but  he  will 
have  no  foreign  element." 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  23l 

"Oh,  Jack  dear,  how  can  you  say  this  to 
me?  Do  you  want  me  to  break  my  poor 
father's  heart?  A  marriage  would  be  hard 
enough  in  his  eyes,  but  to  become  a  traitor 
to  the  Church,  this  he  would  not  forgive; 
and  would  you  want  your  wife  to  be  bur 
dened  by  a  father's  curse  and  the  ever 
burning  tears  of  a  mother?  O  God,"  cried 

O  * 

Lizzie,  —  for  I  knew  now  that  it  was  Lizzie 
O'Hara  and  her  lover,  Jake  Isaak,  —  "  my 
mother  has  been  so  kind  to  me  ever  since 
I  was  a  baby.  I  was  such  a  care  to  her, 
more  than  any  of  her  children.  It  hurts 
nay  heart  to  think  of  it";  and  the  girl 
sobbed. 

"I  am  in  the  same  fix,  darling,"  said 
her  lover.  "But  what  can  we  do?  Do 
you  want  to  give  me  up,  Lizzie?"  There 
was  a  tremor  in  his  voice  as  he  said  this. 

"  O  no,"  cried  she. 

"  Well,  then,  there  is  but  one  course  open 


232  THE    FOLLOWING: 

to  us.  Since  you  will  never  gain  your 
folks'  consent  to  a  marriage  with  me,  and 
as  my  people  will  consent  only  on  condition 
that  you  become  a  Jewess,  —  but  as  I  love 
you  too  much  to  ask  you  to  do  a  cruel 
thing  to  your  parents,  —  I  propose  that  we 
marry  by  law  ;  and  if  after  a  year  you 
still  love  me  as  you  do  now,  and  you  have 
not  obtained  your  people's  forgiveness,  I 
propose  that  you  embrace  the  faith  of  the 
people  who  will  receive  you  with  never 
failing  love.  Are  you  willing,  Lizzie  dar- 
ling?" 

I  could  not  hear  the  answer;  but  it 
must  have  been  quite  satisfactory  to  both, 
judging  by  the  osculatory  music  that  floated 
in  rapid  tempo  through  the  shrubbery. 

I  struck  a  match  and  lit  a  cigar.  "  The 
knowledge  of  a  secret  makes  the  heart 
heavy,"  is  an  old  saying ;  but  though  I 
knew  Mr.  Jake  Isaak  and  Miss  Lizzie 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  233 

O'Hara  were  planning  an  elopement,  I  felt 
light  and  comfortable  ;  and,  what  was  more, 
I  did  not  propose  to  interfere,  either.  Who 
knows,  how  soon  I  might  be  in  the  same 
fix  ?  —  I  argued,  —  and  made  up  my  mind 
to  forget  that  Mr.  Patrick  O'Hara  existed. 
Two  days  later  I  went  North,  thence 
to  New  York  and  Europe.  I  was  away 
some  eighteen  months. 


IV. 

On  my  arrival  in  San  Francisco,  I  met 
an  old  friend,  a  Jewish  merchant. 

"  Martin,"  said  he,  "  I  know  you  are  in 
terested  in  Jewish  affairs  and  customs ;  if 
you  will  accompany  me  to  the  Turk  Street 
synagogue  to-morrow,  you  shall  witness  a 
peculiar  ceremony. 

On  my  asking  of  what  nature  the  cere 
mony  would  be,  he  refused  to  answer. 


234  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"Come  and  see,  —  at  10  A.  M.,  sharp," 
was  all  he  said  as  he  jumped  off  the  car 

At  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning  I 
was  at  the  synagogue  impatiently  waiting 
for  my  Jewish  friend.  At  length  he  came. 

"Now  watch,"  he  said;  "when  the 
Rabbi  opens  the  ark  there,  where  stands 
the  holy  scroll,  the  ceremony  will  begin." 

I  could  hardly  master  myself,  I  was  so 
impatient  to  see  that  peculiar  ceremony. 

Presently  the  Rabbi  rose  and  drew 
aside  the  heavy  velvet  curtain,  embroi 
dered  with  massive  bullion,  in  the  center 
being  two  golden  lions  supporting  a  crown. 
As  the  curtain  moved  to  the  left,  the  con 
gregation  rose.  The  Rabbi  opened  the 
doors  of  the  ark,  bent  low,  and  kissed  the 
holy  scroll;  he  then  turned  toward  the  con 
gregation  and  said:  "My  friends,  we  are 
about  to  perform  the  novel  ceremony  of  in 
itiating  into  the  holy  covenant  a  mother 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  23o 

and  her  child.  The  mother,  a  born  Chris 
tian,  has  voluntarily  embraced  Judaism. 
I  have  instructed  her,  and  am  proud  to 
state  that  a  truer  daughter  of  Israel  will 
not  be  found,  even  among  those  born  in  the 
faith.  Leah,  rise  and  proclaim  thy  faith  in 
the  one  God  of  Israel." 

At  this  a  young  woman,  clad  in  purest 
white,  rose,  and  with  bent  head,  in  her 
arms  an  infant,  ascended  the  stairs  leading 
to  the  ark.  The  words  she  spoke — in  bell- 
like  notes,  sweet  and  distinct  —  impressed 
themselves  on  my  mind:  "  Shemang  Yisroel 
adonoi  elohenu-adonio  echod."  My  friend 
translated  them  for  me.  They  are:  "Hear, 
oh  Israel,  the  Lord  our  God,  the  Lord  is 
one." 

I  had  recognized  Lizzie  O'Hara  at  once. 
She  must  have  experienced  naught  but 
love  and  affection  to  act  as  she  did.  After 
her  profession  of  faith  the  Rabbi  took  the 


236  THE  FOLLOWING: 

child  from  her  arms,  and  lifting  it  before 
the  ark,  said : 

''May  thy  name  be  called  in  Israel, 
Sarah,  and  may  thy  parents  live  to  see 
thee  happily  married  and  prosperous. 
Amen  ! " 

I  waited  till  the  service  was  over,  and 
then  offered  my  congratulations  to  the 
beautiful-  mother  convert.  She  remem 
bered  me  quite  well. 

"You  kept  your  promise,  made  in 
the  Golden  Gate  Park,"  I  said. 

She  blushed  and  smiled.  "So  it  was 
you,  then.  I  thought  I  heard  some  one 
strike  a  match,"  she  said. 

"  Yes ;  it  was  I.  And  where  is  your 
father?"  I  queried. 

"  My  father  sold  his  property  and  went 
back  to  Ireland.  He  has  disinherited  me; 
but  I  am  satisfied;  my  husband  is  doing 
well,  and  we  are  happy. 


THE    FOREIGN    ELEMENT.  237 

"  I  am  glad  for  your  sake,"  said  I,  and 
left. 

V. 

Two  years  had  passed,  and  one  day 
while  walking  on  Kearny  Street,  I  felt  a 
hand  on  my  arm;  turning  I  gazed  into  the 
broad,  grinning  face  of  Patrick  O'Hara. 

"When  did  you  come  back"?"  I  asked. 

"  Some  toime  since,"  he  replied. 

"And  have  you  seen  your  daughter  Liz 
zie?" 

"  Av  course,"  he  said.  "  We  av  kissed 
arid  med  up.  I  could  not  live  widout  me 
daughther  Lizzie." 

"  And  how  about  that  foreign  element, 
Mr.  O'Hara?"  I  asked,  with  a  smile. 

"  One  religion  is  as  good  as  the  other," 
he  said.  "  An  if  Oi  had  known  that  *  Sheeny 
Jake' — as  they  used  to  call  me  son-in-law 
—  would  make  sich  a  good  husband,  I 


238  THE  FOLLOWING: 

would  let  all  me  gurls  marry  *  Sheenies ' ; 
so  I  would,  be  jabers ! '' 

"  That's  a  pretty  baby  of  your  daughter 
Lizzie,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  that  baby  of  theirs,"  said  he,  in 
ecstasy,  — "  it 's  a  perfect  darlint,  Mr.  Mar 
tin,  — a  perfect  darlint.  You  must  come  and 
see  it.  It's  so  smart.  You  know,  Mr.. 
Martin,"  he  said,  standing  on  tiptoe  and 
whispering  into  my  ear,  "I  belave  it's  the 
mixed  breed  —  the  foreign  iliment  —  that 
makes  the  kid  so  smart!" 


THE  FATAL  LETTER. 


i. 

•H,  madame,  madamel  I  cannot  write 
ze  English,  lettair.  I  'av'  try ;  ze  is 
too  hard,"  said  Babette,  Mrs.  Mogens's 
French  maid,  holding  a  pen  in  her  trem 
bling  right  hand  while  wiping  her  brow 
with  the  back  of  her  left.  She  looked  the 
very  picture  of  despair,  and  the  ever-laugh- 
ino-  Mrs.  Mogens,  who  had  been  on  the 

O  O  * 

point  of  ringing  one  of  her  merry  peals  at 
Babette's  exclamation,  suppressed  her  nat 
ural  inclination,  and  asked  who  was  the 
object  of  her  attempted  correspondence. 

"  Zat  is  Monsieur  Morries,  my  sweet 
heart,  zat  I  write,"  explained  Babette. 

"  Where  does  he  live,  Babette?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Mogens,  interested. 


240  THE  FOLLOWING: 

"  In  ze  ceety,"  replied  the  maid. 

"  And  what  would  you  like  to  write 
him?" 

"  O,  he  is  very  nice  young  man,  and 
I  write  him  zat  I  look  favorable  upon  his 
suit, — zat  I,"-  -  here  Babette  blushed  to  the 
roots  of  her  hair,  —"zat  I  lofe  him." 

Now,  Mrs.  Mogens  was  just  the  kind  of 
woman  to  encourage  people  in  love  affairs, 
no  matter  what  the  consequences  might  be. 
She  would  have  gone  miles  to  pacify  a 
pouting  maiden  or  bring  back  a  recreant 
lover.  She  considered  it  her  special  mis 
sion  in  this  vale  of  unhappiness  to  counter 
act  the  set  purpose  of  nature  in  squeezing 
the  lachrymal  glands  of  human  beings. 
Happiness  was  her  watchword;  she  wanted 
all  people  to  be  happy.  Hence  her  readi 
ness  to  assist  Babette. 

"  Does  Mr.  Morris  reciprocate  your  feel 
ing?"  inquired  Mrs.  Mogens. 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  241 

"  Mon  Dieu!  lie  tell  me,  ves"  said  Ba- 

7    t/          ' 

bette. 

"Very  well,  then,  Babette,  I  will  write 
your  letter,  and  you  may  copy  it  and  send 
him  the  happy  message;  but,  remember, 
don't  send  my  handwriting;  you  must 
copy  it. 

"  Mille  merci,  madame,"  cried  Babette, 
and,  kissing  Mrs.  Mogens's  hand,  ran  from 
the  room. 

Mrs.  Mogens  went  to  her  elegant  writ 
ing-desk,  took  a  sheet  of  finely  scented  pa 
per,  and  was  about  to  compose  the  love-let 
ter,  but,  not  knowing  the  Christian  name 
of  Babette's  lover,  she  rang  the  bell  which 
summoned  the  maid. 

"  What  is  Mr.  Morris's  Christian  name?" 
asked  Mrs.  Mogens. 

"  He  tell  me  his  name  is  Petair  Morries. 
I  call  him  Petit, —  Mon  Petit;  zat  is  nice," 
she  said,  with  a  rippling  smile. 


242  THE  FOLLOWING: 

Mrs.  Mogens  thought  it  nice,  indeed, 
and  wrote  one  of  those  charming  notes 
which  are  half  a  confession  and  half  an  in 
sinuation,  and  which  would  have  filled  the 
heart  of  the  most  phlegmatic  lover  with 
jo}7  and  daring.  The  letter  being  finished, 
Mrs.  Mogens  quite  unconsciously  signed  it, 
and  left  it  on  the  table  for  Babette  to  copy. 
She  then  proceeded  to  her  apartment,  made 
her  toilet,  and  went  out. 


II. 

Mr.  Mogens,  the  husband  of  Mrs.  Mo 
gens,  was  a  peculiar  character.  He  had 
married  late  in  life.  He  never  told  the 
reason  why  he  had  waited  so  long;  but 
intimate  acquaintances  said  that  he  was 
too  shy  in  his  youth,  and  in  his  manhood 
too  busy  to  think  of  matrimony.  But 
every  one  has  his  Kismet.  Mr.  Mogens 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  243 

met  Miss  Ophelia  Love,  and  this  settled 
his  fate.  She  was  tall,  beautiful,  and 
bright;  she  loved  pleasure  and  wealth; 
and  Mr.  Mogens  thought  life  and  railroad 
stock  far  above  par,  but  of  little  value 
without  Miss  Ophelia  Love.  He  proposed; 
and  as  his  manly  manner  and  good  looks 
were  enhanced  by  half  a  dozen  millions  and 
a  mansion  on  "  Nob  Hill,"  Miss  Love- 
being  encouraged  by  her  handsome  mother 
-  accepted  all  in  one  hand.  It  is  neces 
sary  to  reiterate  that  Mr.  Mogens  was 
good-looking,  although  his  driver  called 
him  Mr.  Muggins,  and  Pety  Baglow 
called  him  Mug,  for  short. 

Mr.  Mogens  seemed  happy  and  con 
tented;  and  were  it  not  for  a  periodical 
dejection  which  he  strove  hard  to  master, 
he  would  have  passed  for  that  anomaly  in 
this  world  of  care,  —  a  happy  rich  man. 
This  periodical  dejection  was  not  caused 


244  THE  FOLLOWING: 

by  fluctuations  in  the  stock  market,  nor  by 
the  rumored  uustability  of  banks;  neither 
by  annoying  neighbors  nor  by  political 
opponents,  for  Mr.  Mogens's  fortune,  as  was 
already  pointed  out,  was  secure,  and  his 
mansion,  with  gardens,  occupied  a  whole 
block.  Nor  \vould  Mr.  Mogens  have  ac 
cepted  a  United  States  senatorship  if  the 
people  had  thrown  it  at  his  feet;  he  was 
patriotic  in  a  Mogenesque  fashion,  but  he 
loathed  politics.  His  sole  anxiety  —  it 
might  as  well  be  told  now  —  was  his  wife, 
the  vivacious  Mrs.  Mogens.  Yes,  Ophelia 
Mogens  —  Ophelia  Love,  her  intimates 
called  her  —  was,  ever  since  she  came  to 
her  .husband's  stately  mansion,  a  source  of 
pleasure  and  palpitation  to  the  otherwise 
serene  heart  that  beat  in  the  rnanly 
Mogens  bosom. 

The  trouble  with  her  —  or  rather  with 
him  —  was   his  wife's  superlative   beauty. 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  245 

Mr.  Mogens  thought  of  the  many  snares 
and  pitfalls  a  mashing  Kearny  Street  world 
presented  to  a  beautiful  woman  walking- 
unattended  amidst  the  multitude.  Ah,  if 
Mrs.  Mogens  possessed  that  shielding  qual 
ity  —  some  call  it  virtue  —  of  shyness,  the 
bejeweled  and  ogling  masher  might  founder 
on  such  a  rock!  But  Mrs.  Mogens  held 
her  head  high  when  she  essayed  on  one  of 
her  "  down-town  walks."  She  even  looked 
the  masher  straight  in  the  face;  but  her 
pure  gaze  and  invulnerable  virtue  caused 
brazen  sin  to  beat  an  ignominious  retreat 
to  the  accommodating  cigar-store.  The 
masher's  head  invariably  drooped  before 
her  imperious  look;  and  when  his  red  nose 
touched  the  flashing  diamond  on  his  shirt- 
front,  Mrs.  Mogens  smiled,  — a  smile  such 
as  angels  would  over  the  triumph  of  a 
saint. 

But  Mr.    Mogens   understood  her  not. 


246  THE  FOLLOWING: 

He  saw  only  her  smile,  and  this  smile, 
he  thought,  was  enough  to  encourage  the 
angel  Gabriel  to  sell  his  famous  trumpet 
for  old  brass,  and  to  enter  into  a  partner 
ship  with  his  Nickish  Majesty  of  the  Pit. 
When  Mr.  Mogens  accompanied  his  wife 
down  town,  therefore,  he  suffered  the  most 
exquisite  torture,  and  his  eyes — from  a 
forced  endeavor  to  reconnoiter  both  sides  of 
the  sidewalk  —  had  actually  acquired  that 
peculiar  expression  which  is  said  to  belong  to 
those  whose  right  eye  looks  for  Christmas 
when  the  left  is  looking  for  Easter  Sunday. 
And  when  Mrs.  Mogens  —  at  such  queer  mo 
ments —  looked  at  her  husband's  queer  eyes, 
her  silver  smile  broke  into  a  golden  laugh. 
Mr.  Mogens,  like  all  well-  bred  slaves,  gave 
his  eyes  a  convulsive  jerk,  sighed,  and 
said  —  nothing.  But  in  his  heart  —  for 
Mr.  Mogens  had  a  heart,  a  pious,  loving, 
throbbing  heart  —  in  his  heart  he  was  sad 
and  dejected. 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  24? 

After  all,  what  could  he  do?  He  could 
not  lock  her  up  in  the  house.  He  had 
thought  of  such  an  expedient  once,  but  the 
thought  did  not  fecundate,  because  Mrs. 
Mogens  had  once  remarked  that  if  she  had 
had  the  misfortune  to  marry  a  man  who 
would  restrict  her,  and  not  such  a  darling  as 
Mr.  Mogens,  she  would  have  committed  sui 
cide  the  first  opportunity  she  should  have 
had.  At  these  words,  which  seemed  to  have 
answered  his  incipient  resolution  to  lock  her 
up,  Mr.  Mogens  shivered  and  kissed  his 
wife's  hand.  What  a  beautiful  hand  hers 
was!  so  finely  shaped,  so  small  and  full; 
and  the  skin  was  as  soft  as  that  of  an  in 
fant.  As  he  gazed  upon  that  alabaster- 
like  hand,  and  thought  that  this  very  hand 
might  be  discolored  and  shriveled  by  a  self- 
inflicted  death,  he  felt  a  cold,  creepy  sen 
sation  down  his  spine  and  a  chill  in  his 
bones.  No;  he  would  do  nothing  that  might 


248  THE  FOLLOWING: 

possibly  deprive  him  of  this  hand,  arid  his 
eyes  from  feasting  upon  the  glorious  beauty 
of  her  face  and  form. 

And  so  he  sighed,  and  concluded  to  bear 
his  burden  manfully.  She  was  his  \\li\-, 
after  all,  —  bis,  and  his  only.  Besides,  he 
had  the  satisfaction  of  not  being  bored  by 

o  */ 

too  many  visitors  and  a  chance  lover.  The 
few  elderly  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  were 
entertained  once  or  twice  a  week  could 
hardly  be  called  dangerous.  There  was 
nothing  to  be  apprehended  on  this  score; 
and  in  his  house,  at  least,  Mr.  Mogens  had 
no  cause  for  anxiety. 

But   his  heart   was   doomed   to  a  long 

O 

martyrdom.  For,  one  bright  November 
day,  as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mogens  were  walk 
ing  on  Market  Street  they  were  met  by 
two  tall  gentlemen,  and  one  of  them  said, 
"Hello,  Mug,  old  man,  how  are  you?3' 
and,  taking  off  his  hat,  he  continued,  ad- 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  249 

dressing  Mrs.  Mogens,  "  This  is  my  friend, 
Mr.  Bearspaw."  Mrs.  Mogens  was  exceed 
ingly  glad  to  meet  Mr.  Bearspaw;  she  had 
read  his  writings,  and  admired  him  very 
much.  Mr.  Bearspaw's  usual  severity 
vanished  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Mogens; 
and,  though  he  was  not  given  to  answering 
any  questions  that  any  one,  male  or  female, 
might  ask,  he  very  soon  found  himself  an 
swering  some  propounded  by  the  charming 
Mrs.  Mogens ;  which  demonstrates  that 
there  never  yet  lived  a  philosopher  who 
was  impervious  to  a  woman's  charms,  es 
pecially  when  the  woman  had  spirit,  and 
plenty  of  that  woman's  sense  known  as 
"tact." 

Mr.  Bearspaw  was,  as  already  indicated, 
tall  and  finely  proportioned.  He  had  a 
military  carriage,  and  the  face  of  a  thinker. 
His  features  were  strong  and  marked;  not 
that  there  was  that  cadaverous  hollowness 


260  THE  FOLLOWING: 

in  liis  face  that  sometimes  cnves  intellectual 

O 

people  a  satanic  look,  but  the  strength  was 
rather  marked  in  the  general  make-up  of 
that  remarkable  face.  His  forehead  had 
long,  deep  lines,  and  his  brows  were  of  an 
extraordinary  length.  But,  while  they 
partly  shadowed,  they  did  not  prevent  the 
observer  from  seeing  a  most  penetrating 
eye,  blue  in  color,  but  by  its  great  sharp 
ness  robbed  of  that  insipidness  which  gen 
e-ally  marks  eyes  of  "heavenly  hue."  A 
straight  nose  added  to  the  character  of  the 
face,  and  an  elegantly  shaped  mustache 
completed  it.  He  spoke  in  a  low  tone  of 
voice,  and  in  this,  probably,  was  the  only 
fault  of  the  man's  make-up.  There  was  no 
strength  in  it;  he  seemed  afraid  to  speak; 
but  he  only  seemed  so,  for,  in  reality,  there 
was  nothing  in  how  loud  he  said  a  thin^, 

i-J  O ' 

but  what  he  said,  and  that  carried  weight 
every   time.     As   he   walked   by  the   side 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  251 

of  Mrs.  Mogens,  they  appeared  a  very 
handsome  pair,  the  whole  strength  of  his 
manhood  matched  against  her  glorious 
womanhood. 

Mr.  Mogens's  heart  gave  a  thump  as  he 
saw  his  wife  look  up  to  Mr.  Bearspaw's  face 
with  an  intensity  that  was  as  new  as  it  was 
startling.  And  Bearspaw  looked  down  into 
her  face  and  smiled.  Bearspaw  looked  dread 
ful  when  he  frowned,  but  when  he  smiled, — 
well,  that  was  quite  a  different  affair. 

"  The  devil  take  —  "  that  was  the  be 
ginning  of  Mr.  Mogens's  sentence,  but  he 
only  thought  those  three  words;  aloud,  how 
ever,  he  said,  "  Your  friend  there  —  " 

"Yes,  isn't  he  a  charming  fellow?"  in 
terrupted  Mr.  Pety  Baglow.  "  He  is  a 
most  delightful  fellow.  Say,  Mug,  old  boy, 
I  '11  bring  him  up  to  your  house  some  even 
ing, —  say  next  Sunday  evening;  will  that 
suit  you  ?  I  arn  sure  your  wife  will  be  de- 


252  THE  FOLLOWING: 

lighted  to  see  him.      You  have  still  that 
good  whisky  of  yours,  have  n't  you  ? " 

And  Mr.  Mogens  said  Yes.  Thus  the 
matter  was  settled,  and  Pety  Baglow  raced 
on  on  another  theme,  so  that  poor  Mr.  Mo- 
gens's  head  was  in  a  whirl.  He  forgot  to 
look  cross-eyed  on  the  sidewalk;  all  he 
knew  was  that  Baglow  rattled  on,  saying 
sweet  nothings  about  theater  parties  and 
dinners,  and  wines  and  girls,  and  that  in 
front  of  him,  like  lovers  in  sweet  forgetful- 
ness,  walked  Bearspaw  and  his  Ophelia. 
He  could  have  strangled  Pety  Baglow  and 
turned  a  dagger  in  the  entrails  of  Bearspaw. 
Oh,  how  he  regretted  not  having  realized 
that  first  thought  of  shutting  her  up  in  the 
house!  But  he  recalled  her  threatened 
suicide  in  a  given  case,  and  he  mastered  his 
raore, —  sighed,  and  bore  his  burden  with 

O      '  O  ' 

Christian  meekness.     But  fate  is  sometimes 
better  than  man  imagines.     Did  Pety  see 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  253 

the  poor  man's  sufferings,  and  desire  to  pour 
oil  into  the  wound  ?  or  was  it  merely  a 
natural  inclination  to  tell  a  pleasant  lie  ? 
Enough;  he  told  Mr.  Mogens  that  Mr. 
Bearspaw  hated  women,  and  that  the  im 
pression  the  sweetest  woman  would  leave 
in  his  heart  would  be  a  desire  to  never  meet 
her  again. 

These  words  had  a  startling  effect  upon 
Mr.  Mogens;  he  became  positively  lively, 
and  linked  his  arm  with  that  of  Baglow. 
The  recording  angel  sneezed,  so  that  a  drop 
of  heavenly  saliva  fell  on  the  book,  and 
Pety  had  a  notch  to  his  credit.  Of  course, 
Pety  told  Mr.  Mogens  that  he  (Pety)  was 
not  as  unsusceptible  as  Bearspaw,  but 
Mogens  laughed  at  the  thought  of  Pety's 
rivalry.  He  knew  him  too  well ;  good  old 
Pety,  —  he  would  have  trusted  him  with 
everything,  excepting,  perhaps,  his  Ophelia, 
—  but  this  was  quite  a  different  matter. 


254  THE  FOLLOWING: 

As  a  matter  of  course,  however,  Mr. 
Mogens  underrated  Pety  Baglow's  quality 
in  "  stooping  to  conquer."  Because  Pety 
Baglow  was  a  student  of  the  gentler  sex, 
and  though  all  fish  was  not  meat  to  him, 
yet  when  a  man  is  hunting  up  authorities 
on  the  "  Art  of  Persuasion,"  he  must,  of 
necessity,  give  the  material  on  hand  a  fair 
trial,  and  Baglow's  trials  were  nearly  always 
of  the  fair  kind.  Might  he  not  be  induced 
-  simply  from  love  of  study  —  to  change 
the  subject?  —  physicians  certainly  do  so 
quite  often,  and  Pety  was  a  student  of  anat 
omy  from  no  motive  of  gain,  but  for  the 
love  of  the  thing.  His  endeavors  had  been 
crowned  with  exceptional  success  in  nearly 
every  instance;  and  though  he  was  a  student 
and  a  writer  of  repute,  he  was  not  at  all 
pedantic.  To  be  sure,  his  nature  was  in 
total  opposition  to  that  of  Bearspaw  ;  but 
all  people  can  not  be  alike.  Pety  was  as  light 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  255 

as  air,  but  he  was  beautiful.  One  would  not 
have  called  him  handsome,  because  this  term 
applies  to  persons  of  a  grosser  nature. 
Pety's  nature  was  fine;  he  was  born  of  a 
woman,  brought  up  among  women,  and  he 
needed  woman's  sympathy  and  woman's 
love  to  spice  his  life.  In  this  intercourse 
he  had  acquired  all  the  finesse  of  a  woman; 
his  touch  was  tender  and  delicate;  his  man 
ner  gentle.  Had  he  been  beardless,  his 
oval  face  and  soft,  pointed  chin,  his  long  hair 
and  dreamy  eyes,  would  have  given  him  the 
character  of  a  beautiful  woman.  His  rich 
red  and  swelling  lips  might  have  stamped 
him  a  voluptuous  woman.  But  as  he  was 
a  man,  —  with  a  certain  man's  courage,  and 
the  qualifying  masculine  hairiness,  — it  made 
him  what  women  were  pleased  to  call  a 
beautiful  man.  His  mustache  covered  his 
upper  lip,  according  to  regulation,  and  a 
short,  pointed  beard  toned  up  his  feminine 


256  THE  FOLLOWING: 

chin.  He  was  a  favorite  with  men,  and 
more  so  with  women.  His  gentle  manner, 
his  pretty  speech,  his  readiness  to  do  them 
favors,  —  small  favors,  to  be  sure,  such  as 
not  even  jealous  husbands  would  object  to, 
-captivated  them.  Mr.  Baglow  was  a 
fortunate  man,  indeed. 


III. 

"  Good  by,  Mr.  Baglow,  and  call  again," 
said  Mrs.  Mogens,  opening  the  door. 

"  Thanks,  awfully,"  replied  Mr.  Baglow, 
and  bowed  himself  out.  But  he  bowed 
himself  into  the  avoirdupois  of  Mr.  Mogens, 
who  was  nearly  knocked  down  from  the 
steps  leading  to  his  own  house. 

"Hello,  Pety,  look  out!"  cried  Mr. 
Mogens,  grabbing  the  former's  coat,  by 
which  he  managed  to  gain  his  equilibrium. 

"  Beg  pardon,  old  man.     How  are  you  ? 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  257 

Charming  flowers  you  have  in  your  garden. 
By  by  ! "  and,  skipping  down  the  stairs, 
he  was  gone. 

At  the  collision  between  Mr.  Baglow's 
back  and  Mr.  Mogens's  front,  Mrs.  Mogens 
uttered  a  ringing  laugh.  Mr.  Mogens 
would  have  frowned  if  he  had  dared  ;  as  it 
was,  he  smiled  a  sickly  sort  of  a  smile,  and, 
entering,  kissed  his  wife  on  the  forehead. 

Mr.  Baglow  had  called  as  promised,  but 
he  had  come  without  Mr.  Bearspaw.  Mrs. 
Mogens  had  shown  her  displeasure  almost 
as  much  as  Mr.  Mogens  his  delight.  He 
hated  that  Mr.  Bearspaw,  into  whose  face 
his  Ophelia  had  looked  with  so  much  evi 
dent  pleasure.  Mr.  Mogens  was  so  happy 
at  the  absence  of  the  supposed  rival  that 
Pety  Baglow's  attentions  to  his  wife  evoked 
but  little  feeling.  But  Mr.  Baglow  had 
continued  his  visits  at  short  intervals.  He 
brought  flowers,  books,  and  often  box- 


258  THE  FOLLOWING: 

checks  for  first  nights  at  the  Baldwin  The 
atre.  Mr.  Mogens  was  annoyed  at  first, 
then  suspicious,  until  the  torture  became  so 
poignant  that  he  felt  sick  at  heart.  He 
was  sure  his  wife  liked  Pety  Baglow;  he  had 
seen  her  smile  upon  him  —  oh,  so  happily ! 
She  had  never  smiled  on  him — her  own  hus 
band,  her  benefactor  —  so  sweetly.  Each 
smile  cut  his  heart;  but  what  could  he  do? 
Of  course,  he  might  have  ordered  Pety 
Baglow  from  the  house;  but  what  good 
would  that  have  done  him  ?  Might  they 
not  carry  on  their  illicit  love  somewhere 
else  ?  It  is  an  old  saying,  that  those  bent 
on  mischief  laugh  at  watchfulness.  He 
could  do  nothing. 

Several  days  later,  as  Mr.  Mogens  as 
cended  the  steps  leading  to  his  mansion, 
and  thought  of  the  late  collision  with  his 
hated  friend  Pety,  he  kept  close  to  the 
railing.  But  he  was  spared  the  agony; 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  259 

the  catastrophe  did  not  come  to  pass.  On 
inquiry,  Babette  told  him  that  "ze  Mad 
ame  Mogens  hav'  gon'  out."  That  did  not 
make  him  any  happier.  Where  had  she 
gone  to  ?  Whom  had  she  gone  to  meet  ? 
These  were  torturing  questions.  Mr.  Mo- 
gens  lighted  a  cigar  and  seated  himself  at 
the  window.  Was  he  going  to  spy  on  his 
wife  ?  Probably.  But  who  would  not  ex 
cuse  him?  He  worshiped  her;  there  on 
the  wall  hung  her  picture,  — what  a  grand 
woman  she  was  !  Suddenly  he  felt  a  de 
sire  to  go  into  her  boudoir,  to  see  her  trin 
kets,  to  kiss  everything  his  wife  had  looked 
at  or  touched.  Oh,  was  there  ever  such  a 
love  as  burned  in  his  tortured  heart  ? 

He  opened  the  door  of  his  wife's  room 
and  looked  in.  It  was  the  bower  of  a 
princess.  He  entered,  and  seated  himself 
in  a  soft  chair,  —  probably  the  one  she  had 
sat  in  before  she  had  gone  out.  Suddenly 


260  THE  FOLLOWING: 

his  eye  fell  upon  a  sheet  of  paper  on  the 
table,  —  there  was  writing  on  it;  he  recog 
nized  his  wife's  hand  at  a  glance.  To  whom 
had  she  been  writing  ?  Who?  Who?  An 
unconquerable  desire  to  read  that  note 
seized  him.  Twice  he  tried  to  master  his 
unmanly  desire,  but  at  last  he  succumbed. 
With  a  bound  he  was  at  the  table,  —  he  held 
the  note  in  his  hand,  but  the  hand  trembled 
so  he  could  not  see.  He  heaved  a  sigh  and 
steadied  himself.  He  needed  all  the  forti 
tude  to  remain  on  his  feet ;  for  what  he 
read  crushed  him  to  death.  A  cry  of 
agony  escaped  his  lips;  he  sank  into  a  chair, 
but  he  did  not  lose  consciousness  :  fate  was 
too  cruel  for  that.  There,  black  on  white, 
was  his  wife's  guilt.  "  My  darling  Peter," 
the  letter  began,  and  ended  with  an  effu 
sion  of  love  that  drove  him  mad.  Nor 
had  she  made  any  attempt  to  conceal  the 
fact ;  she  had  written  that  incriminating 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  261 

letter,  and  had  signed  it  with  her  —  no,  his 
name.     He  was  disgraced,  annihilated. 

"  My  darling  Peter,"  she  calls  him,  he 
murmured  at  length.  "She  hopes  soon  to 
be  his  wife ;  all  it  needs  is  to  put  me  out 
of  the  way.  Very  well,  Pety,  you  have 
wrecked  my  life,  I  '11  give  you  a  show  to 
wreck  hers,  also.  You  shall  have  her. 
Life  is  not  worth  living  if  you  have  to 
fight  for  each  inch  of  ground.  I  am  going, 
I  am  going";  saying  which  he  left  his  wife's 
room  and  the  house. 


IV. 

Monsieur  Morris,  the  intended  husband 
of  Babette,  was  a  charming  young  man,  just 
such  as  would  capture  the  heart  of  a  French 
maid  ;  he  was  employed  in  an  office  that 
closed  its  doors  daily  at  two,  p.  M.,  and  Mr. 
Morris  had  all  the  pleasant  afternoon  hours 


262  THE  FOLLOWING:  , 

to  himself.  He  spent  them  mostly  at  the 
Golden  Gate  Park.  It  was  there  that  he 
met  and  learned  to  love  his  sweet  Babette. 
But  if  his  passion  for  pretty  French  maids 
was  bound  to  end  in  that  derogation  of 
freedom  called  matrimony,  his  greater  pas 
sion  for  picking  choice  flowers  at  the  city's 
park  was  bound  to  land  him  in  jail.  But 
Morris  indulged  in  both  those  passions  with 
a  nonchalance  that  was  lordly,  to  say  the 
least.  Another  peculiarity  of  Mr.  Morris 
was  the  wearing  of  a  green  coat  and  a  green 
felt  hat,  and  with  his  black  mustache  and 
beard  a  la  Napoleon  the  Third,  he  looked 
not  unlike  his  club-footed  Majesty  at  a  ball. 
"  Every  crime  has  its  time,"  is  a  saying, 
and  Mr.  Morris's  predilection  for  stealing 
flowers  brought  him  int.)  unpleasant  rela 
tions  with  the  park  police. 

It  was  on  the  day  that  Babette  sent  him 
the  happy  message  of  her  love  that  Mr. 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  263 

Morris,  dressed  in  a  bright  green  coat  and 
hat,  walked  jauntily  into  the  Park,  whistling 
a  few  bars  from  that  charming  opera,  "Cav- 
alleria  Rusticana."  A  beautiful  oleander- 
blossom  took  his  fancy,  and,  without  much 
care  for  spying  policemen,  he  broke  it  off 
and  put  it  into  his  buttonhole.  But  the 
Argus-eye  of  an  officer  was  upon  him ;  to 
be  sure,  the  policeman  was  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away,  but  as  he  made  straight  for  Mr. 
Morris,  the  latter  thought  speed  the  better 
part  of  valor.  He  cut  and  ran  into  the 
depth  of  a  bush,  and  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  the  policeman  race  by  at  the  top 
of  his  speed.  He  knew  that  the  police 
would  beat  the  bush  and  find  him  erelong; 
he  also  knew  that  he  would  go  to  jail,  and 
this  was  not  quite  agreeable,  when  one  an 
ticipates  matrimony  in  a  few  days.  He 
thought  of  means  to  get  out  of  the  Park 
unobserved;  but  he  looked  at  his  green 


264  THE    FOLLOWING : 

coat,  —  the  police  would  recognize  that  a 
mile  off,  — and  he  despaired.  Suddenly  he 
heard  a  voice,  and  as  he  looked  to  his  right, 
he  saw  a  man. 

"  I  am  tired  of  this  everlasting  torture," 
said  the  man.  "I'll  make  an  end  of  it." 

Mr.  Morris  was  about  to  say  "  Don't," 
being  afraid  that  the  man  might  expedite 
his  soul  by  means  of  lead  and  powder,  which 
would  attract  those  "hounds  of  justice,"  as 
he  styled  the  reputable  persons  who  follow 
the  shrill  call  of  the  police- whistle.  But, 
to  his  great  relief,  he  saw  the  man  take  a 
bottle  from  his  pocket,  which  he  could  see 
was  labeled  "  laudanum"  and  deliberately 
drink  it  contents.  A  happy  thought  struck 
Morris,  and  he  smiled  with  satisfaction. 
Bending  over  the  twigs,  he  stepped  into  the 
place  where  the  suicide  lay. 

"  See  here,  friend,"  said  Morris,  <f  I  saw 
you  drink  that  stuff;  in  twenty  minutes 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  265 

you  will  be  as  dead  as  a  door-nail.  The 
police  are  after  me  for  stealing  flowers  in 
this  park.  I  cannot  leave  the  place  with 
this  green  coat  and  hat ;  give  me  yours 
while  there  is  time,  and  you  put  on  mine. 
You  will  save  me  from  trouble  and  my 
Babette  from  anxiety,  for,  let  me  tell  you, 
sir,  I  shall  be  married  in  a  week,  and  I 
don't  like  to  go  to  jail  just  now." 

When  the  suicide  heard  that  Morris  was 
about  to  get  married,  he  smiled,  and  said, 
"  I  have  half  a  mind  to  let  those  fellows 
arrest  you  ;  the  confinement  in  the  county 
jail  would  probably  cure  your  attempted 
matrimonial  folly.  But,  as  you  seem  to  be 
bent  upon  mischief,  have  your  own  way  "; 
saying  which,  he  took  off  his  coat  and 
hat  and  donned  those  of  Morris.  The  ex 
change  was  hardly  made  when  the  police 
were  upon  them. 

"  There  he  is,  the   fellow  in  the  green 


266  THE  FOLLOWING: 

coat,"  cried  the  policeman  who  had  chased 
Morris. 

"  That  man  has  committed  suicide,  gen 
tlemen,"  said  Morris,  gravely.  "You  had 
better  ring  up  a  patrol  wagon  ";  and  in  the 
excitement  that  followed  his  statement,  he 
stole  away. 

V. 

Mrs.  Mogens  felt  very  uneasy  when  the 
dinner-bell  rang  and  her  husband  had  not 
come  home.  He  was  always  punctual ; 
what  could  possibly  have  kept  him  out  so 
late  ?  From  Babette  she  had  heard  that 
the  master  had  been  in,  and  had  gone  away 
again.  And  it  was  the  first  time  in  her 
married  life  that  she  sat  down  to  dinner 
alone.  Her  husband  must  have  found 
something  or  somebody  very  interesting 
to  neglect  her  thus;  she  was  piqued,  for, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  she  loved  her  husband 


THfi    FATAL    LETTER.  267 

dearly  ;  he  was  manly  and  devoted  ;  he  al 
ways  read  her  wishes  from  her  eyes,  and 
fulfilled  them  before  they  were  uttered. 
She  mentally  compared  him  with  all  the 
men  she  knew ;  there  was  not  one  she 
would  have  put  in  his  place.  And  then, 
too,  there  was  the  fifth  anniversary  of  their 
wedding,  which  was  also  his  birthday. 
How  she  had  schemed  to  surprise  him, — 
and  now  he  was  neglecting  her ;  that  was 
a  sad  beginning  for  the  coming  joy. 

The  dinner  remained  untouched,  and 
when,  at  midnight,  her  husband  had  not  re 
turned,  Mrs.  Mogens,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  married  life,  wept  and  cried  herself 
to  sleep.  The  next  morning  she  was  much 
sadder.  Mr.  Mogens  was  not  in  his  apart 
ments, —  had  not  been  there  at  all.  The  poor 
woman  was  nearly  frantic;  she  cried,  and 
Babette  cried  with  her.  What  were  they 
to  do  ?  Mrs.  Mogens  sent  Babette  down 


268  THE  FOLLOWING: 

town  to  the  office;  he  was  not  there.  At 
length  the  bell  rang,  and  the  servant  an 
nounced  Mr.  Pety  Baglow.  He  appeared 
to  the  poor  woman  like  an  angel  from 
heaven.  If  any  one,  he  could  find  out  what 
had  become  of  Mr.  Mogens.  When  Bag- 
low  heard  the  terrible  storv,  he  thought 

»/  ' 

a  while;  then  he  thought  that  Mr.  Mogens 
might  have  gone  the  way  of  all  flesh,  in  one 
of  the  many  pleasant  resorts  of  San  Fran 
cisco,  where  champagne  fizzes  and  semi- 
dressed  women  wear  sparkling  diamonds 
and  play  the  piano.  So  Mr.  Baglow  con 
soled  Mrs.  Mogens,  and  told  her  that  he 
would  go  and  find  her  husband  (more  dead 
than  alive,  he  added,  mentally),  and  that  he 
would  return  soon. 

Now,  Mr.  Baglow  was  an  adept  in  locat 
ing  all  sorts  of  people,  from  a  lad  who  ran 
away  from  the  Boys'  and  Girls'  Aid  So- 
cietv  to  the  bold,  bad  men  who  rob  trains 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  269 

and  kill  people  because  they  are  too  for 
ward  in  pressing  their  acquaintance.  ,  And 
so  Mr.  Baglow  scoured  the  resorts,  high 
and  low,  but  no  trace  could  he  find  of  the 
missing  Mr.  Mogens;  and  as  Pety  could 
not  bring  it  over  his  heart  to  face  a  woman 
when  he  had  to  make  a  discouraging  re 
port,  he  went  to  a  friend  whose  whisky  was 
better  than  his  reputation,  and  drowned 
his  failure  in  copious  draughts. 


VI. 

"Prisoner  at  the  bar,  stand  up,"  said 
Police  Judge  Hishornblower.  The  pris 
oner  at  the  bar  looked  pale  and  distin 
guished.  He  wore  a  green  coat,  which' 
made  his  face  ghastly  looking,  and  on  the 
bench  by  his  side  was  a  green  hat. 

"You  are  guilty  of  a  misdemeanor;  you 
are  accused  of  having  stolen  flowers  in  the 
park.  Do  you  plead  guilty  ? " 


270  THE  FOLLOWING: 

The  prisoner  at  the  bar  said  he  was  not 
guilty. 

"  Call  the  witness,"  cried  his  Honor. 

The  witness  was  called,  sworn,  and  said 
that  his  name  was  Michael  McGinnis,  a 
park  policeman. 

"  Is  that  the  man  you  saw  picking  flow 
ers  ? "  asked  the  judge. 

"  Av  yer  'Onor  plase,  it  is  th'  inon.  He 
had  on  a  grane  coht,  an'  Oi  knows  grane 
whin  Oi  sae  it." 

The  judge  was  about  to  sentence  the 
culprit,  when  an  auditor  rose  and  asked 
permission  to  address  the  court.  Permis 
sion  being  given,  the  auditor  declared  that 
he  was  in  the  park  at  the  time ;  that  he 
saw  the  thief,  and  that  he  was  positive  it 
was  a  much  smaller  man  who  took  the 
flowers.  He  also  maintained  that  if  he 
put  on  that  green  coat  and  hat,  the  police 
man  would  accuse  him.  In  fact,  he  was 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  271 

positive,  he  stated,  that  the  policeman  was 
under  the  influence  of  liquor.  The  police 
man  turned  purple  in  the  face,  and  said  that 
if  the  auditor  would  put  on  that  coat  and 
hat  he  would  take  an  oath  that  he  was  not 
the  thief. 

The  judge  actually  asked  the  auditor 
to  put  on  the  green  coat  and  hat,  and  to 
stand  at  a  distance  from  the  witness.  When 
that  was  done,  the  policeman  trembled  in 
every  limb. 

"  Av  yer  'Onor  plase,  this  mon  is  the 
divil,  fer,  be  the  saints,  it 's  him  Oi  saw 
stealin'  thim  flowers,"  cried  the  policeman, 
and  sat  down,  stunned. 

There  was  first  a  titter,  then  a  roar  of 
laughter  among  the  spectators,  for  the  man 
in  the  green  coat  and  hat,  with  his  black 
mustache  and  pointed  beard,  looked  very 
much  like  Mephistopheles  in  "  Faust." 
Even  the  judge  made  but  little  endeavor 


272  THE  FOLLOWING: 

to  hide  his  mirth,  when  suddenly  a  woman's 
voice  was  heard,  who  said,  "  Oh,  mon  cher 
Pelair!"  It  was  Babette,  who  at  this  mo 
ment  entered  the  court-room  and  espied  her 
lover. 

In  his  effulgent  joy,  Peter  Morris  —  for 
it  was  he  that  saved  the  accused,  who  was 
none  other  than  Mr.  Mogens  —  embraced 
Babette  in  the  court-room.  The  judge 
thought  this  enough  for  the  serenity  of  a 
court  of  justice,  and  dismissed  the  case. 
Babette  and  her  lover  left  the  court-room 
first,  and  the  former  did  not  see  her  master. 

The  latter,  however,  had  made  a  won 
derful  discovery  while  locked  up  in  a  cell ; 
for  be  it  known  that  it  was  not  laudanum 
that  the  providential  druggist  had  given 
Mr.  Mogens,  but  plain  every-day  brandy. 
The  city  physician  diagnosed  the  case  at 
once,  and  Mr.  Mogens  was  locked  up  on  a 
charge  of  misdemeanor.  As  he  was  in  the 


THE    FATAL    LETTER.  273 

cell,  Mr.  Mogens  reviewed  his  case.  His 
failure  at  self-destruction,  instead  of  caus 
ing  him  dejection,  filled  him  with  mirth. 
How  ludicrous  the  entire  business  was,  - 
the  exchange  of  his  garments  for  that 
green  coat,  which  was  much  too  small  for 
him  !  Now  he  also  remembered  that  his 
pocket-book,  which  contained  valuable  pa 
pers  and  checks,  was  in  the  coat  he  had 
given  to  that  flower- thief,  and  what  did 
he  get  in  return  ?  Nothing.  He  put  his 
hand  in  the  breast  pocket,  —  ah,  there  was 
a  letter  addressed  to  Mr.  Peter  Morris. 
Who  was  he  ?  He  did  not  care.  Uncon 
sciously  he  drew  the  letter  from  the  envel 
ope  and  opened  it.  It  made  him  stagger. 
The  letter  began:  "My  darling  Peter." 
Oh,  the  mixed  feelings  of  agony  and  hope! 
So,  after  all,  it  was  not  Pety  Baglow  his 
wife  had  been  writing  to,  but  to  this  stran 
ger,  whom  he  knew  not,  but  whom  chance 


274  THE  FOLLOWING: 

had  thrown  in  his  way.  In  his  excitement, 
he  did  not  notice  that  it  was  not  his 
wife's  handwriting  at  all.  He  read  on  ;  he 
was  perplexed  still  more ;  the  letter  was 
signed  "  Babette."  Did  his  wife  use  her 
maid's  name  as  a  guise  ?  Certainty,  —  if 
he  could  get  but  certainty.  Now  he  was  a 
prisoner  in  a  filthy  cell.  He  shook  the  iron 
bars ;  he  wanted  to  be  free,  —  to  find  out 
if  life  was  worth  living1  after  all. 


VII. 

"  Here,  driver,"  cried  Mr.  Mogens,  as 
soon  as  he  had  reached  the  street  from  the 
Old  City  Hall, — he  had  the  green  coat  and 
hat  on,  —  "there  is  ten  dollars  for  you; 
race  for  your  life  up  to  Mogens's  place." 
He  was  in  the  cab,  and,  but  a  few  minutes 
later,  at  the  feet  of  his  wife. 

Well,  she  laughed  and  wept  as  she  kissed 


THE   FATAL   LETTER.  275 

his  dear  head.  But  he  took  from  his 
pocket  that  fatal  love-letter,  and  asked  her, 
for  the  love  of  heaven,  to  explain  its  star 
tling  evidence.  Mrs.  Mogens  read  the  let 
ter,  and  uttered  such  a  peal  of  laughter 
that  both  Babette  and  her  lover,  who  were 
waiting  to  call  on  Mrs.  Mogens  to  acquaint 
her  with  future  plans,  rushed  into  the 
room. 

"  O  monsieur,"  cried  Babette.  "  My 
Petair's  coat!" 

"  And  my  letter  ! "  cried  Mr.  Morris. 

"  I  wrote  that  copy  for  Babette,"  said 
Mrs.  Mogens,  with  a  laugh.  "  And  you 
were  jealous,  dear  hubby;  naughty  man  to 
go  away  before  the  anniversary." 

"  My  darling,  I  love  you  more  than  I 
can  tell,"  said  Mr.  Mogens;  "and  the 
thought  that  you  might  be  unhappy  with 
me  drove  me  mad;  forgive  me." 

It  was  a  picture  fit  for  an  artist's  brush. 


276  THE  FOLLOWING: 

There  they  stood  embraced,  both  the  mil 
lionaire  and  his  wife,  who  never  knew  of 
her  husband's  attempted  suicide,  and  the 
humble  servant  with  her  lover.  And  the 
cabman  below  swore  that  the  "  bloke  "  in 
the  green  coat  was  a  dead  beat. 


A  MIDNIGHT  SONG. 


FINALE. 

|HE  night  was  calm  and  glorious.  Not 
a  breath  of  wind,  nor  a  cloud  in  the 
sky.  The  moon  threw  her  silver  light  in 
one  gigantic  beam  upon  the  ocean,  and  the 
stars  glittered  in  their  iridescent  back 
ground,  while  our  ship,  The  Homeless,  gently 
rocked  upon  the  heaving  bosorn  of  the  deep. 
Of  the  thousand  passengers  on  board  nearly 
all  were  on  deck.  Almost  every  nation  of 
the  civilized  world  was  represented.  They 
were  steering  for  the  land  of  freedom  and 
endeavor,  —  America.  They  were  remark 
ably  quiet  at  this  moment;  were  they  awed 
by  the  grandeur  of  the  ocean  ?  Probably. 


278  THE  FOLLOWING: 

Sudden!;:  the  trumpet-like  voice  of  the 
Captain  broke  the  silence.  Every  one 
started. 

"Let  us  have  a  song,  ladies  and  gentle 
men.  Give  us  a  nice  song,  a  song  in  which 
all  may  join." 

"  O  yes,  sir;  please,  sir,"  chimed  an 
Anglo-Saxon  maiden  from  the  county  of 
Yorkshire ;  "  let  us  have  a  genuine  Eng 
lish  song,  sir.  I  propose,  sir,  we  sing, 
'  God  Save  the  Queen,'  sir." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  a  portly  Ger 
man  ;  "  the  Queen  is  nothing  to  us.  Let 
us  sing  something  that  will  remind  us  of 
loyalty  and  bravery,  and  deeds  done.  Cap 
tain,  I  propose  we  sing  '  Die  Wacht  am 
Ehein.' " 

"  Au  diable  with  the  Wacht  am  Rhein," 
cried  an  excitable  Frenchman.  "  Gentle 
men  and  ladies,  I  humbly  crave  your  par 
don;  but  I  must  protest  against  German 


A    MIDNIGHT    SONG.  2?9 

songs.  The  best  German  product  is  Liin- 
burger  cheese.  I  mean  no  offense.  But 
liberty  was  won  when  every  man  of  France 
sang  the  one  great  song,  '  La  Marseillaise.' 
Captain,  1  propose  this  very  popular  song." 
.  "Presto,  Signor  Capitano,"  said  an  Ital 
ian.  "Ah,  there  is  nothing  like  Italy's  great 
song,  '  Patria,  mia  Cara.'  Captain,  we  sing 
the  Italian  song,  '  Patria,  mia  Cara.' " 

At  this  a  girl  approached  the  Captain. 
She  was  remarkably  beautiful,  and  as  the 
moonlight  fell  upon  her  figure,  she  looked 
like  one  of  those  forms  modeled  by  the 
Greek  masters,  the  poise  and  symmetry  of 
which  take  the  soul  captive,  and  fill  the 
heart  with  longing. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  she  said,  and 
her  voice  sounded  soft  and  melodious,  like 
the  deep,  melting  tones  of  a  flute.  "  I  am 
an  American.  My  patriotism,  though 
strong,  is  rather  cosmopolitan.  But  an 


280  THE  FOLLOWING: 

American  neither  fights  nor  sings  for  trifles, 
being  ready,  however,  to  do  both  for  the 
blessings  of  his  home.  If  I  understand  the 
Captain  correctly,  it  is  his  intention  that 
we  should  have  a  song  to  inspire  the  soul 
and  fill  the  heart  with  memories  and  hopes. 
To  accomplish  this,  you  must  sing  a  song  to 
voice  the  sentiments  of  all  on  board.  But 
for  this  you  need  not  go  to  London,  Paris, 
Berlin,  or  Rome.  The  name  of  the  ship 
we  are  on  is  quite  suggestive  of  the  general 
feeling,  — '  Homeless ' !  Are  we  not  home 
less  just  now,  floating  between  life  and  eter 
nity  ?  And  what  could  possibly  be  nearer 
to  our  hearts,  from  whatever  country  we 
may  hail,  than  the  thought  of  home,  and 
those  loved  ones  we  left  behind  us  ?  I  am 
certain  there  is  no  one  on  this  ship  who 
would  not  fall  in  with  those  who  sing 
'  Home,  Sweet  Home.' ': 

"  Alas,  yes  !  there  are,"  said  a  man  in  the 


A    MIDNIGHT   SONG.  281 

immediate  vicinity  of  the  charming  and 
eloquent  American.  "  Yes,  miss,  there 
are  over  two  hundred  heart-broken  Jews 
below  in  this  ship,  who  would  rather  lament 
as  did  their  ancestors,  '  By  the  waters  of 
Babylon,  there  did  we  sit  and  weep,  re 
membering  thee,  O  Zion  P  We  had  homes 
and  happiness,  but  the  Czar's  cruelty  and 
the  mob's  brutality  robbed  us  of  both.  Let 
those  sing  of  a  sweet  home  who  have  homes, 
but  to  us,  homeless  wanderers  of  nigh  on 
two  thousand  years,  to  us  home  is  a  stigma 
and  a  curse.  It  is  very  hard  to  be  driven 
from  the  land  of  your  birth,  to  be  declared 
homeless,  but  it  is  harder  still  to  join  in  a 
joyous  chorus  when  one's  soul  is  in  agony 
and  the  heart  is  broken." 

And  the  poor  man  covered  his  face  and 
wept. 

"  My  friend,"  said  the  beautiful  Ameri 
can,  "  you  should  not  weep  over  past  mis- 


282  THE  FOLLOWING: 

fortunes.  You  are  going  to  a  land  of  liberty, 
and  your  future  happiness  will  far  outweigh 
your  past  misery.  In  suggesting  the  song, 
'  Home,  Sweet  Home/ 1  thought  of  you  also. 
I  thought  of  all  those  that  are  homeless. 
While  it  is  true  that  some  of  us  are  returning 
to  old-established  and  happy  homes,  still 
others,  and  those  are  by  far  in  the  majority, 
go  to  America  to  found  homes  and  rear  fam 
ilies.  A  few  years  hence  and  your  past  life 
will  be  like^a  dream,  aye,  a  bad  dream,  but 
gone  and  forgotten.  You  and  your  people 
will  be  citizens  of  a  great  republic,  respected 
and  honored  by  all.  Some  of  America's 
best  citizen's  are  of  your  faith,  who,  coming 
like  you,  poor  and  homeless,  have  made 
for  themselves  names,  homes,  and  fortunes. 
And  were  you  to  ask  the  least  of  them 
whether  they  prefer  their  old  to  their  new 
homes,  I  am  certain  they  would  be  in  favor 
of  the  latter.  Cheer  up,  then,  my  friend, 


A    MIDNIGHT   SONG.  283 

and  in  anticipation  of  your  future  happiness, 
sing  with  us  of  the  glory  and  sweetness  of 
home." 

"  God  bless  you,  miss,"  said  the  Jew,  while 
every  one  on  deck  cheered  the  wise  and 
fascinating  girl. 

Again  the  voice  of  the  Captain  resounded, 
but  there  was  a  slight  tremor  in  his  deep 
tones  as  he  said, "  Let  us  sing  '  Home,  Sweet 
Home.' " 

He  gave  the  signal,  and  the  air  was  filled 
with  the  chorus  of  a  thousand  voices,  some 
singing  and  some  sobbing,  "  Home,  Sweet, 
Sweet  Home!" 

The  monsters  of  the  deep  rose  to  the  sur 
face,  the  sea  heaved,  the  moon  shone  in 
tranquil  beauty,  the  stars  blinked  approval. 
It  was  a  beautiful  night;  it  is  a  memory 
now. 


\Ve  call  special  attention  to  our  next  book, 
a  powerful  novel,  founded  on  the  great 
SHARON  CASE,  entitled: 

"SERALTHA," 

BY 

ABEL  M.  RAWSON, 

Author  of  "The  Junior  Partners." 


We  have  also  a  new  and    beautiful  edi 
tion  of 

BLACK  BEETLES  IN  AMBER, 


BY 

AMBROSE   BIERCE. 


Our  Coast  Address  is 

WESTERN  AUTHORS'  PUBLISHING  ASSOCIATION, 
MURPHY  BUILDING, 

SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


133 


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